Chiaroscuro
by Lunavere
Summary: Max Caulfield felt she was starting a new chapter at Blackwell. But high schools never change, no matter where you are. Max is besieged with drama, mostly from Victoria Chase, and the advances of her friend Warren. And in the midst of it all is her famous photography teacher, Mr. Jefferson, whom is painfully out-of-reach. So why can't she stop thinking about him?
1. Trouvaille

Max Caulfield felt as though she was going to vomit. Her stomach clenched and churned as she laid in bed and stared up at the blank ceiling. It was her first day at Blackwell Academy, which also meant that it was going to be her first class with her long-time idol Mr. Mark Jefferson. The reason she came here. Luckily for her, her parents were supportive of her passion for photography. They believed that she could do something with it. And she thought Mr. Jefferson, whose photographs she had always admired and respected, was the key to her future.

The room was dark, long shadows casting from the white glow of the lights outside. It wasn't quite morning yet. Max glanced at her phone, which read 5:03AM. The sun would rise soon over Arcadia Bay. Usually, Max wasn't awake early enough to see a sunrise. She always found the bed too comfortable, sleep just too inviting. At home, her parents always teased her because she was doubtful to rise from her bedroom until noon. She knew she should try to get a bit more sleep, as she had tossed and turned the whole night. But her stomach did another flip at the thought of lying around any further, and she rose to her feet. Once standing, Max felt her stomach sway, as though she was standing on a boat.

 _Be cool, Max. It's just school._

She walked over to her closet and began rifling around. Although she didn't have any taste in fashion, she enjoyed her simple tees and plain jeans. She pulled out her favorite shirt: a pink tee with "Jane" and a doe on the front in white characters. It suited her. In Seattle, she had always been the Jane Doe of the class, present but never recognized. She hoped Blackwell would be an end to that. Eventually. She couldn't afford to be shy and quiet here, not with a famous photographer as her teacher. This was a chance of a lifetime for her to get ahead in her craft for once. In comparison, what she wore didn't seem to be so important anymore.

Getting dressed, Max examined herself in her full-length mirror as she brushed her short brown hair. There was a light darkness under her eyes from the lack of sleep the night before, she noticed. She decided to draw attention away by putting dark eyeshadow on just her lids and carefully outlining her eyes with the thinnest line of brown eyeliner she could manage. It would just be enough, she hoped, to get people to look into her bright blue eyes instead of noticing what was under them.

She then grabbed her doe-colored jacket - pulling it on to keep the morning cold from nipping at her skin - slung her bag over her shoulder, and went out the door. The closed doors of the girls' dormitory stretched before her as she quietly padded her way down the hall. This early in the morning, no one besides her was awake. Why would they be? Classes didn't start for hours. Max reached the end of the hall and quietly opened the door, slipping out. Still anxious, Max pulled her jacket closer around her chest. She trotted down the steps before trekking across the small front yard to the dormitories. The path was less foreign to her, as she had arrived a few days previous. She still couldn't get over her surroundings, though. As she walked, she admired the bright red brick of the buildings and clean lawnscape. The grass had been recently cut, too, in order to ensure that everything was literally picture perfect.

 _Hello, Arcadia Bay funds. Nice to see where you went._

Max knew it sounded cynical, even in her own mind. But she also recalled the state of the rest of the town, with its buildings barely in repair. It was even worse than what she remembered it, although she did find some comfort in the fact that nothing had changed in her years away. Nothing except for Blackwell, that was. And now Blackwell Academy represented Arcadia Bay. Which meant its students did, too. Max let out a long breath as she climbed the stairs towards the academic buildings.

The fountain was supposed to be the centerpiece, she knew. It was in the middle of the academic square, standing tall with trees strategically placed away from it. Immortalized in bronze, Jeremiah Blackwell stood proudly, as if watching over his school even now. "Future needs excellence" was quoted on the front of it. The graffiti that marred its surface now took a more significant meaning. After all, most students weren't interested in pursuing excellence. "I just wanna graduate" struck the strongest chord with the student population. So many hopefuls here couldn't wait to get out into the world.

 _Everyone except me._

The thought came unbidden to Max's mind, and she let it linger there longer than she should. She was only 18, she reminded herself. As her parents always said, she had "all the time in the world." She shook the thoughts from her head and turned her attention to the nearest poster. It was one of Mr. Jefferson's most famous shorts, a police officer speaking to the family of the victim. Max could feel the father's dismay in his slumped form, his shoulders sunk and his head bowed. It was made all the more devastating by being in chiaroscuro.

Max felt her stomach churn again, but she knew it wasn't due to the photo. The grounds were adorned with several of Mr. Jefferson's works, a small show for anyone walking around campus. Honestly, Max couldn't help but think it was cool. She walked around to each one, examining them all carefully, from the man with the cold eyes and hard lines to the sultry woman sitting. Each piece captured a different moment - a different emotion - and Max was overwhelmed by it. This is what a professional's work looked like.

 _I'm never going to be this good._

She thought that with some disdain as she sat on the fountain. By now, the sky was beginning to lighten, the sun barely peeking its head over the horizon. The nighttime lights of Blackwell Academy turned off, sensing the oncoming dawn. She noticed the stars were starting to fade, swallowed by the light. Truly, she wished she could take nice photographs of the night sky, but that was a true limitation she found for her camera. They never came out right, black film with perhaps a dot here and there from the stars. It was never quite as pretty as the actual thing. And in a transition like this, she knew everything would be lost.

 _Perhaps not everything is meant to be captured._

She smiled at her own musing and placed a hand back. She anticipated placing it on the fountain only for it to miss the brick entirely. Cold water clasped at her skin, and Max let out a gasp before ripping her hand back up. A shimmer caught her eye as she looked down. Coins glittered at the bottom of the fountain, some covered in moss from age, others brand new. Unable to help herself, Max beamed. Something so simple yet still managed to take her breath away. Pulling out her camera, she crouched down next to the fountain. Without the sun, there was no light to cause a terrible reflection in the photos. She shifted once to find her perfect angle. The water barely ripped still from her previous encounter, distorting and reforming the images of the coins underneath. Holding her breath, Max took a photo, ensuring to hold the flash down to prevent it from ruining the lighting.

 _I hope everyone got their wish._

She took the film and shook it, an old habit of hers that she knew she should probably break. Without waiting, she carefully placed the picture into her journal. At least her nerves had done her a favor, letting her see the dawn of her first day at Blackwell. Max couldn't help but feel that this would be a new dawn for her as well.


	2. Meraki

_Be cool, Max. It's just another class._

Max's racing heart wouldn't adhere to her thoughts at all, ramming against her rib cage as though it wanted to burst from her chest and present itself openly to Mr. Jefferson. He was even more attractive in real life with his mussed hair, as though he had just rolled out of bed, his black-and-white frames added to his trendiness, and his facial hair made him appear more mature. She couldn't believe that she was sitting in front of the Mark Jefferson. She was _in his class_. His eyes locked onto hers, and she immediately averted her gaze. Closing her eyes a moment, she willed away the warmth rising to her cheeks.

 _Wowsers. Talk about swoon._

"I loved first days when I was a student," Mr. Jefferson stated. His warm voice was deep and calming. "Go to class, knowing nothing was going to happen. No homework would really be assigned. And now I dread first days for those same reasons." Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "So I've decided to start this day a bit differently. We're starting with an assignment."

A collective groan emitted from the class.

"Shhh, don't be like that," Mr. Jefferson said, his smile coloring his tone. "We're going to start by me taking a picture of you all. A commemorative photo, if you will, of our first day together. Now come on, huddle up! Use Miss Alyssa's desk as our focal point."

Everyone else rose first, chairs clattering away from desks. Max, although a self-declared selfie queen, felt her nerves wrack at the thought of being on the other side of Mr. Jefferson's lens. A girl with short blond hair and an outfit that probably cost more than Max's entire wardrobe strutted over and grabbed the black male. He walked with her, pulling his seat along as he went, and she sat down in the first chair available next to Alyssa. Without a word, she looked pointedly at him. He caught the hint, pulling his chair in between them and sitting down himself. A girl with long, blonde hair took up her place on the other side of the girl with dyed hair. Her outfit, although not as expensive as short-cut's, was definitely planned out before entering. Swallowing hard, Max became aware of her own clothing. She hadn't anticipated being photographed today, or she might have tried to be more impressive than just "Jane Doe."

Rising, a girl with dirty blond hair pulled back brushed down her clothing. She was clearly shy, standing behind the line of chairs and allowing them to block most of her petite frame. Max certainly identified with her. Then the last two students stood behind the girl with dyed hair. As the only one who didn't move, she must Alyssa.

 _Great job there, Max Holmes. Way to finally realize the obvious._

"Care to join the class?"

It took a moment for Max to realize that she was being spoken to. The other students turned back, their eyes boring into her. Heart leaping, Max looked from them back to Mr. Jefferson. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered out, getting up. She took a few steps forward to feel a weight pull at her shoulders. A loud scraping noise alerted her to the issue. Her bag had hooked on her chair, as she hadn't removed it, and dragged it with her for a moment. Her face flushed more as she untangled herself.

 _How much more uncool can you get, Max?_

"Bring the chair," Mr. Jefferson said. He smiled at her reassuringly, and it almost washed away her embarrassment. Almost. He motioned to the dirty blonde. "There's a nice spot for you in front of Kate here."

Max picked her chair up, not wanting to hear the scraping announce her belated approach. She set it down behind Alyssa's and long blonde's chairs, just in front of the girl who was called "Kate."

Bringing up his camera, Mr. Jefferson brought it to his right eye. "Alright, now, everyone just be yourself. Let me get a glimpse of who you are."

Looking at Mr. Jefferson's camera, Max shrank slightly at the thought but reflexively smiled nonetheless. She held it for a few shots before he lowered his camera. Letting out a breath of relief, she wished she could get as far away as possible to deal with her embarrassment in private.

"Wonderful," Mr. Jefferson stated, setting his camera down near his laptop. "I'll make sure to email you all a copy this evening."

That was one email Max wasn't looking forward to. She was sure she looked just as awkward as she felt. Swallowing hard, she was the first to rise, eager to place her seat back at its desk. Perhaps the ground would suddenly split underneath her and swallow her whole. That would be a considerable improvement as her face burned.

"Mr. Jefferson," a sickly sweet voice called out. Max looked over to see the short-haired blond speaking.

Mr. Jefferson blinked. "Yes, Miss Victoria?"

"I wanted to ask you about the assignment. I looked up your syllabus online before coming to class," Victoria replied. A ripple of discomfort went through the students in the class. "I noticed it mentioned we should bring a portfolio on our first day."

Every other student stilled, all staring at Mr. Jefferson for a response. Certainly, Victoria was the only one who had thought to look ahead of time at the syllabus. Max hadn't carried any pictures with her outside of the personal ones in her diary. And the one from this morning, she supposed, but she didn't think that constituted a _portfolio_.

"I'm glad you brought that up. Actually, that was what I was changing," Mr. Jefferson noted. Victoria practically deflated in front of him. "Now that I have had you all as my subjects, I want to be yours. For today's exercise, all of you are going to take one photograph of me with my camera. I want this to be my first glimpse at you all as photographers as well as artists."

Max felt her heart race at the thought. She wasn't used to working with models. Outside of her instant selfies, her preferred subject was nature, whether within its environment or a foreign one. But she had never worked with someone before as a model. Anxiety welled up in the back of her mind again. How was she supposed to make a good impression when she was so clearly out of her element?

 _I wonder if I can still drop the class..._

"I will be calling you all in one by one. You have 10 minutes to figure out your shot before I start calling you in. Once in, you have 5 minutes to take it," Mr. Jefferson explained.

Shocked, Victoria's jaw dropped. "Mr. Jefferson, that's hardly any time for a professional-"

"Miss Victoria," Mr. Jefferson cut in, his smile becoming a bit strained, "I am not asking you to become a professional in ten minutes. I'm asking you to show me who you are as an artist. Now, everyone out! Your time starts now."

Victoria snapped her mouth shut as she marched, along with the rest of the class, out of the room. They dispersed in the silent hallway, miniature cliques being formed already. Victoria sat with the long-haired blonde and the black guy, the three of them talking in low murmurs. Alyssa and Kate sat together with the other two students, although only the three girls spoke to each other.

And then there was Max.

She knew she should climb out of her cocoon, but she sat down by herself. This was important. She had so far only made a fool of herself, and this was her moment of redemption. A second chance at looking back on today with fondness. She needed to impress Mr. Jefferson. But she didn't know how.

"I'm going to go for a brooding shot," Victoria declared. The quietness of the hall made her easy to hear as she spoke to her friends. "Because he's an artist at heart. He knows what it's like to slave over the perfect shot. It suits him perfectly as a model."

"But what about you as an artist?" Max inquired, now curious.

Green eyes fastened onto Max, driving like daggers into her. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything after all. "What do you mean?"

"W-well, Mr. Jefferson said he wanted to see us as artists," Max pointed out, her voice giving away how nervous she was. She was just trying to help. There was no reason for Victoria to look at her as though she was about to murder her.

Rising to her feet, Victoria took measured paces towards Max. "It suits me as an artist because it reveals how observant I am. To reveal someone's personality within a photo is a formidable talent to have." She was almost upon Max now, towering overhead.

Max's brow knitted with concern as she searched for a way to escape only to realize there wasn't one. _Oh, shit..._

"A talent, might I add, I was born with. So don't you even _think_ about stealing my idea if he calls you in first, or I will-"

The door burst open. Mr. Jefferson stepped out and looked around. His eyes narrowed upon finding the scene before him. In a deliberate manner, he took several decisive steps forward. Max shivered as Victoria quickly took a few steps away. Once she did, Mr. Jefferson smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Victoria, you will be first," he stated.

Victoria blinked. "But Mr. Jefferson, it hasn't even been ten minutes!"

"It's clear by the fact that you brought a portfolio that you have a strong understanding of who you are," Mr. Jefferson answered without missing a beat. "An assignment like this should be easy enough for you. And once you've taken your photo, you get to leave early. I believe a suitable reward for the only one to read the syllabus before class started."

Victoria practically preened under the praise. It made Max want to gag, knowing that she was just pretending to seem perfect in Mr. Jefferson's eyes. Even worse, he seemed to be falling for it. Still, she couldn't ignore the fact that this had just saved her hide from whatever Victoria had been planning to do. Max sank back into the lockers, relieved. Victoria strutted into the classroom, and Mr. Jefferson gave Max one last look before following. The door closed, but the students remained silent. She knew that it wouldn't be long before that exchange was the gossip of the school. The only thing she had to wonder was if it was going to portray her as the agitator or as the victim.

 _You have bigger things to worry about._

That thought nagged at her mind, pulling her back to the fact that she had to come up with a way to portray herself as an artist with all the wrong materials. She couldn't use her own camera. She had to use a model. She had to figure out a way to do so properly in a set environment. It went against everything that she was: spontaneous, adventurous, and in-the-moment. Honestly, Max wondered what would happen if she wandered off. Would he even notice? She supposed so, given the fact that his class was so small. Sighing, she resigned herself to her position.

The door opened again, and Victoria stepped out with a smug look on her face. "Thank you for the compliments, Mr. Jefferson. I'm glad you liked my shot."

"Yes. I will see you in class tomorrow, Miss Victoria."

"Just Victoria, please," Victoria purred with a grin.

 _How can she say that without puking?_

"Stella, you're next," Mr. Jefferson called out, ignoring Victoria's response.

One by one, her fellow students were called in. And one by one, they emerged looking far more relieved than when they entered. Max, however, felt her anxiety build with every door click. She could feel her heart fluttering as she searched for an idea - _any idea_ \- that would plausibly work. How could she create spontaneity in a setting? How could she create a genuine reaction from a model prepared to express himself however the photographer asked? This was all so horrifically out of her element that she didn't even know where to start. Victoria, for all her arrogance, at least had a clear vision in mind almost immediately. But it was like Max's lens was always just out of focus.

That nauseating feeling that had left her before now returned with a vengeance. Rubbing her stomach, she waited for Daniel to come out. She knew she was next now, being the last one in the hall. She worried that Mr. Jefferson had called them in according to how promising he thought they were.

 _That would certainly fit._

The door open, and her heart decided that her stomach was her new home. Mr. Jefferson and Daniel exchanged pleasantries, as he did with all the students, before Daniel gave Max a small smile and thumbs up. Well, at least one of her classmates was nice.

"Maxine," Mr. Jefferson called out.

Max got up and tugged her shirt down nervously. "Just Max, Mr. Jefferson."

"I apologize, Max," Mr. Jefferson offered before closing the door. He glanced back at her, not moving an inch. However, his gaze towards her softened. "I'm sure by now you're aware why I called you last. I don't know what the exchange was about, but I take it you weren't hurt?"

Max hesitated as her mind whirled. Exchange? What exchange? "I - uh - I don't know what you're-"

"You don't have to play coy with me. You looked as though Victoria had done everything except strike you when I opened the classroom door."

Realization crashed into her mind, calming the whirlwind. So that was why he dismissed Victoria first and kept Max last. He wanted to make sure she was okay. Max attempted to still her heart at that thought, unsure what to do with his attention. "O-oh. No, there was just a misunderstanding between us. That's all."

"Max, you can tell me if something happened. I'm your teacher. Part of my job is to help you," Mr. Jefferson pressed, his eyebrows pulling up with concern. It was touching to see, really, that he already cared so much about his students. No doubt he was going to be her favorite teacher if he was going to be that invested.

She smiled, tentatively yet honestly. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. That's supercool of you. But nothing happened."

Mr. Jefferson's mouth turned down with a hint of displeasure. It seemed he didn't believe her. "Well, if anything does happen, you come to me. Cool?"

"Cool," Max laughed out, starting to feel a bit more at ease.

Mr. Jefferson relaxed as well. "Well, now that I've gotten that bit over with, how would you like me?"

Max looked around the room. The wall of windows was certainly nice, as the light came streaming in thanks to the afternoon sun. Glancing around, she walked over to the windows. It was the best for a photo. Quietly, she said, "Stand here, please."

Mr. Jefferson eyed her as he walked over. He stood, facing the window, his brown eyes squinting in the light. Although the lighting was perfect, giving him a near ethereal glow and shadows casting behind him, that wouldn't do. She needed him not to look out but stay standing there. Perhaps he could look down. But at what? Her mind raced as she looked around. It landed on a book, several of which were behind his desk. Scrambling, she picked up one of them and began to flip through it. They were all pictures of destructive nature, from earthquakes to tornadoes to hurricanes to ice storms. She landed on a particularly impressive picture of a tornado. She handed the book to Mr. Jefferson.

"Look at this," she ordered, finally finding a bit of her voice.

"Like this?" Mr. Jefferson looked down, and his eyes relaxed now that the sun wasn't blinding him. It was certainly better from the angle she stood at, to his right, but it fell short. There was no true emotion to be found when looking at a previously viewed photo, she supposed.

An idea sparked upon that thought. She had a photo - one he had never seen before - on her. Quickly, she rustled in her bag for it. She pulled it out of her journal and looked at it. It wasn't much, she knew, but maybe it would evoke even the smallest amount of response from him. She straightened her shoulders and strode over. Before she could over think the situation, she held the photo out, picture down. "Actually, I want you to look at this. I took it this morning."

Mr. Jefferson lowered the book to his side and took it from her gently, his fingers barely brushing her own. Max took a step back and instinctively grabbed her camera. Mr. Jefferson flipped it over and examined it. His eyes widened, and a genuine smile parted his lips. That was it. Max brought her camera up and snapped her shot. Pleased with herself, she grabbed the picture from her camera and shook it.

"You took this?" he inquired softly, the moment now gone. He turned towards her, now examining critically. She felt like a pinned butterfly on display. Motioning to it, he complimented, "This is… purity in its finest form."

Flushing, Max ducked her head as she took it back from him. Today was finally starting to look up. "Thank you."

"Did you get your shot?"

Max beamed. "I did," she replied, offering the still-developing picture to him.

Mr. Jefferson looked at it in confusion before taking it. "Your instructions - if you recall - were to take it with my camera."

Horror iced her blood. In the moment, she had completely forgotten her instructions. "I-I'm so sorry. I just - I forgot. I saw the moment I was looking for, and I just... reacted."

"Do you know what my first rule of photography is?" Mr. Jefferson inquired as he waited for the film to develop. Max shook her head. "Always take the shot. And since that it my philosophy, I suppose I cannot be too upset with you for taking it, albeit with an inferior camera. But next time, Max, try to follow instructions."

"Yes, sir," Max murmured, her eyes drifting down to the photo. The color was just starting to show.

 _Way to fuck it up again, Max._

Mr. Jefferson looked down at the photo as well before tucking it into his breast pocket. "That'll be all for today, Max. Thank you for your time. I'll see you tomorrow in class."


	3. Coruscate

Max dredged towards her first class, dragging her feet in the process. The first week at Blackwell had been quite interesting. She had adapted better than she anticipated to living in dorms, although sharing a bathroom with that many girls was still strange. It didn't get any easier if one of the showers had two occupants instead of one - a more common occurrence than it should have been. Max took to showering in the morning to avoid such nonsense. Apparently, no one was willing to wake up for a fun romp in the showers.

This, of course, left her rather tired. Her floor companions usually stayed up well into the night. Sometimes, they had a private dance party in one of the rooms. Other times, there was some drama duel between two girls, usually solved in the form of screaming at one another. But more often than not, girls just hung out in the hallway and chatted. Usually outside of Victoria's room, which practically neighbored Max's. It was hard to sleep when she could clearly hear all the latest Blackwell gossip and drama through the thin walls. And every now and again, someone would bang something around or laugh just a bit too loud, and Max would wake right back up.

Max's problems with sleeping stemmed back to when she was little. Her teddy bear had been a constant companion for her, to keep away the evil monsters that plagued her imagination every time the lights turned off. But it had only slightly helped. Max still spooked at every creak and groan in the house. Eventually, she simply accepted the fact that she would never be able to enjoy a "zonked sleep" like Chloe. Then again, she also never really could sleep over at Chloe's house thanks to the girl's incessant tossing and turning. They just committed on not sleeping, instead reading stories until daybreak.

 _Those were the good days. I should totally contact Chloe. Tomorrow._

Despite being "home," Max had yet to bring herself to contacting her "BFF." It was mostly rooted in the fact that she felt so damn guilty. For five years, she all but disappeared off the face of the planet. She knew it was wrong, but she also didn't know how to face Chloe. Her father had died, and Max had been dragged out of her life by her parents. Max didn't want to leave, but she wondered if Chloe even wanted her around. She would be crushed if the answer was "no," but she wouldn't blame Chloe for feeling that way. Not after the way she treated her.

"Whoa, zombie alert!" a teasing voice called out. A hand waved in front of her face. "Earth to Max."

Max blinked back to the present, her eyes focusing on the familiar, friendly face. His brown eyes gleamed as a smile stretched almost from ear-to-ear. He walked with a bounce in his step, and Max couldn't understand how he was that energized. "Hey, Warren. What's up?"

"Just fighting off the zombie apocalypse, looks like," he jested. He checked Max from head to toe. She was wearing a plain, white tank today with a vibrant dream-catcher on it, complete with watercolor feathers. Her faded blue jeans completed the look. Honestly, she had just pulled on the first things she found that were clean. "You look like you came right out of _Zombieland_. Everything alright?"

 _Well, you officially look like shit, Max Caulfield, if even Warren's saying so._

Max nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, I just haven't been sleeping well. New environment and all."

"Oh, man, yeah, I totally get ya," Warren said, nodding animatedly. It certainly didn't _look_ like he understood, given how perky he was. "You know what helps me? Movies. I watch a movie as I'm falling asleep, and I am gone."

 _I doubt listening to some action hero get shot at will help me sleep._

"I haven't tried that yet," she offered, trying to be nice about it. After all, Warren was only trying to help her. "Got any recommendations?"

Warren's smile broadened. "You have no idea. I got a flash drive with all sorts of movies on it. There's bound to be something there you'll enjoy. It's back in my dorm room, but I can run back and snag it if you want."

"Thanks, but you can give it to me later. There's really no rush," Max said, waving a hand dismissively. She really couldn't deal with much more energy this morning. It seemed to sap whatever she had left from her.

Warren nodded and fell in step, slowing his own pace to match hers. "You should stop by my science class later. I've got something wicked to show you," he whispered, winking.

Uneasy by the double entendre, Max shifted uncomfortably. She knew that Warren was interested in her, although she couldn't conceive _why_. They had known each other just over a week now, and Max wasn't the type to jump into bed with anyone. Frankly, she wanted to get to know him better without the stress of dating looming overhead. Now, it seemed that everything he did was to vie for her affections. It felt remarkably… faux.

Shifting her bag, Max decided to ignore the comment. "Let's get to class," she encouraged with a smile.

Warren nodded, walking with her down the hallway. They had the same AP English course, which is what helped their friendship blossom outside of orientation. Walking in, Max noticed that Mrs. Hoida had already started writing notes on the board. Mrs. Hoida was Max's favorite literature teacher ever. She nurtured free thought and critiques about all their readings. Max felt comfortable voicing her own opinion there. Mrs. Hoida gazed out.

"Today, we shall be discussing Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ ," she said. The board was covered with names of _Hamlet_ characters, some of which Max didn't recognize. She got out her small book and opened it. It was the one Mrs. Hoida had handed to her, complete with small notes made my previous students as well as a few bits of dick graffiti.

Sitting on her desk, Mrs. Hoida said, "Shakespeare was the master of language. Particularly subtext. The art of stating something without actually saying the words. Implications run rampant throughout the play. Insults are exchanged under the guise of simple notes or even mad musings. Subtext is probably the most fearsome item in a writer's repertoire."

Max pulled out her notepad for English and opened to a fresh page. In her own personal scrawl, she wrote, "Subtext" in large letters on the first line. She found it difficult to concentrate, her mind wandering back to her earlier encounter. She felt bad for Warren. It wasn't his fault that he was so open. It was just a part of who he was. He pursued things that he enjoyed. And it was obvious that he enjoyed Max. But it was going to make the subsequent refusal later that much harder. She wondered just how long it would be before he outright informed her that he wanted to date her. To be certain, she wasn't going to bring it up before that point.

 _Warren's super sweet, though. He deserves a girlfriend who matches._

Max had never been much of one for relationships. Friendships were her bread and butter, ever since she met Chloe. Although she had tried to date a few times, they had always ended awkwardly after the first date. She was the common denominator. For whatever reason, she just never truly felt comfortable with anyone since Chloe Price. And whenever her partner pushed for more, Max pulled away. She had never even kissed someone outside of an unromantic peck on the lips.

"Miss Caulfield?" Mrs. Hoida pressed, her voice sharply cutting through Max's musings. "Do you have an answer?"

 _Uh-oh, dazed off for too long. Shit, Max, think of something._

Glancing around, Max desperately tried to figure out where the lecture had moved on to. Warren met her gaze before casually pointing at his notebook. Max could barely make out his chicken scratch, but the words were "double entendre?"

"A double entendre is a word or phrase open to multiple interpretations, although usually limited to just two," Max answered, hoping that had covered well enough.

Mrs. Hoida relaxed. "Very good," she said before turning back to the board. "Now, in _Hamlet_ , there are quite a few prime examples of double entendre. Turn to page…"

Max wrote "Thanks" on her notebook and flashed it to Warren, who gave her a thumbs up. She quickly marked it out before continuing her notes. Mrs. Hoida clearly wasn't putting up with daydreamers today, and she didn't want to get Warren in trouble if he got caught helping her. Although she kept her pen moving, some of her notes were nonsensical even to herself. Just mindless babble to make it appear as though she was engaged with the content.

Her mind wandered again. Alyssa, who was usually quiet in photography, actively raised her hand for this class. It seemed that literature was truly her niche. There had been moments in the past where she got completely swept up in a conversation with Mrs. Hoida that left the two of them engrossed for ten minutes before the teacher recalled where they were. She would then tell Alyssa they would continue the discussion later if she wanted before returning to teaching the class.

Alyssa's hand was currently shot in the air. Her eyes were wide with desperation, her mouth dropped slightly open. Her dyed hair was lopsided on her shoulders, as one shoulder was stretched higher than the other. The higher the hand, the better chance of being picked, right? At least, that seemed to be what Alyssa believed. Max's hand found her camera instinctively. She loved Alyssa's passion - her desperation to converse about something she loved. Max had never experienced something like it herself, too shy to open up like that.

It was only after the camera automatically spat out the photo that Max realized what she had done. All eyes landed on her, and she could feel her face begin to heat with embarrassment.

"Maxine Caulfield!" Mrs. Hoida rebuked.

Grimacing upon hearing her full name, Max sheepishly looked at her teacher. The woman was on her feet now, hands on her hips. Her mouth was stretched into a strained line, her eyes never once wavering from the girl.

 _Oh, man, she's super pissed._

"I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Hoida," she started, her mind grasping for any reason for her actions. "It's just that… I just… took the shot… like Mr. Jefferson said to do." Max's brain caught up after her mouth moved, and she could have eaten her own shoe. Did she really just blame Mr. Jefferson for her lack of judgement? She sank further into her seat.

 _Time to melt into the ground, Max. Quickly._

Mrs. Hoida's eyes narrowed. She strode over to Max's desk with long strides."Are you telling me that Mr. Jefferson gave you permission to take photos whenever you so desire? With no regard for anyone else?" she snapped, snatching the photo from Max's camera and waving it about.

Worrying her lower lip, Max hesitated as she tried to think of a reply that wouldn't amount to her being in _more_ trouble than before. "Th-that's-"

"Miss Caulfield, come with me," Mrs. Hoida ordered.

Max tried not to wince. She had never seen Mrs. Hoida so angry before. Once they were outside the room, Max stammered, "I-it won't happen again, Mrs. Hoida. I-I-I'm so sorry I disrespected you. That was _never_ my intention. Please, believe me!"

"No, I know exactly _who_ was disrespecting me," Mrs. Hoida declared as she stormed down the stairs. Max scrambled to keep up, surprised just how quickly Mrs. Hoida could walk. She stopped sharply in front of a class door and pounded on it. She finished, "And if he feels that he can disrupt my class, he has another thing coming."

Max blanched. After a second, the door opened. Mr. Jefferson stood on the other side, looking at Mrs. Hoida then Max in surprise. "Mrs. Hoida, may I help you?"

"Step outside, Jefferson," Mrs. Hoida ordered. "And close the door behind you."

Mr. Jefferson glanced back to his class. "Get working on that in-class assignment. I'll be just a minute." With that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. His eyes landed on Max again. Once more, she felt as though they pinned her down. He had a keen eye to be sure, but Max squirmed with the knowledge that he was not just looking at her. She was being _seen_. "And what might this be about?"

"Miss Caulfield here took a picture in the middle of my lecture, disrupting my class," Mrs. Hoida explained, her voice cold and stern. Even as she spoke, Mr. Jefferson never took his eyes from Max. He was examining her carefully. Max wrapped an arm across herself nervously in reply. "She says she did it with your permission."

Max could taste the bile in her mouth. Right now, her second favorite teacher was angry with her favorite teacher without cause. She wished that she had spoken clearer instead of just stammering her way into an accidental excuse. Clearly, she had caused more problems than her picture was worth.

 _I wish I could turn back time._

Mr. Jefferson let his surprise reflect on his face. Finally, he looked back at Mrs. Hoida. "Did she now?"

"Yes. Apparently, you told her to 'take the shot' without consideration that there's a _time and place_ for these kinds of things," Mrs. Hoida responded, thrusting the photo Max took into his hands. Mr. Jefferson looked down at it, and a smile tugged at his lips. "I will not tolerate instituted dissent in my classroom. We are not all subject to your art, no matter what _you_ might think. And honestly, Jefferson, I'm disappointed in you. We might have disagreed on-"

"It's an assignment for class," Mr. Jefferson suddenly cut in, not letting her continue. Max tried not to balk at the blatant lie. "They're supposed to 'take the shot' of average school life. So many adults, including ourselves, forget what it's like to be a student. I did warn them about in-class shots, but Max here is one of my more passionate students. I'm sorry if this disrupted your class, as that hadn't been my intention when assigning it. I will make sure to emphasize the importance of academic pursuit. It will not happen again."

Mrs. Hoida appeared dissatisfied with the answer, but she couldn't object further. He had seceded on every point she cared about. "See that it doesn't," she remarked, turning on her heels. As she stalked off, she casually threw back, "Or I'm going to start assigning detentions!"

Turning as well, Max went to follow, not knowing why she had to be there for the exchange. She was not going to be able to look Mr. Jefferson in the eye today. Especially not when he covered for her without a second thought. No doubt, he had spared her immense humiliation. It might be hard for her to go to Mrs. Hoida's class tomorrow, but it wouldn't be _impossible_.

"Max, a second." Mr. Jefferson looked at Max with raised eyebrows. He clearly was expecting an explanation.

Max turned back and sheepishly murmured, "I didn't tell her you told me to take the picture, Mr. Jefferson. I swear. I just got over eager."

"I know, Max, but don't do it again. You only get one 'get out of jail free' card for passionate photography," he told her before nodding towards Mrs. Hoida, who was already starting back up the stairs. "You better get back to class."

Nodding, Max started off when she remembered herself. She turned back to find Mr. Jefferson reaching to open the door. She remarked, "By the way, Mr. Jefferson?" He stopped from opening the door and looked at her. "Thanks. What you did for me was supercool."

Mr. Jefferson brought a finger to his lips. "Just don't tell anyone else." With that, he walked back into his classroom.

Max jogged down up the stairs to catch up with Mrs. Hoida. Together, they walked back in, and the class dropped into an utter silence. Max bit back a sigh. Just as the gossip about her fight with Victoria was starting to die, this had to happen. Now the school would be buzzing again with her name on their lips. Sitting down, Max glanced at Warren, who looked at her with apprehension. Obviously, he was braced to find out the worst. It would have to wait until after class, though. She couldn't afford to upset Mrs. Hoida any more than she already had.

Class dragged, each minute crawling by so slowly that Max felt like she had been there for hours. Her eyes kept finding the clock, desperately willing for it to _move_. It remained indifferent to her plight, though, ticking by at its own pace. Finally, the bell rang to release them. Max all but ran from the room, desperately avoiding Mrs. Hoida in the process.

"Whoa, Maximum Ride, slow down!" Warren called out, catching up and grabbing her arm. He used it as leverage to turn her around to face him. Worry etched across every feature. "What happened? Did you get detention?"

Max shook her head. "No, just a warning. I still can't believe I did that, though."

"Yeah, that was pretty ballsy," Warren agreed, letting her go. He fell in stride with her again, walking down the hall with her "Everyone thought you were going to be suspended when she took you out of the room."

 _Same._

"Well, there definitely won't be a second chance," Max concurred as she walked down the hall. Already, Victoria was chatting up Mr. Jefferson outside of his classroom. She was batting her eyelashes and flashing the largest smile Max had ever seen. She didn't understand how Victoria could do all that with a straight face. Max suppressed her annoyance before giving Warren a wave as he turned towards his science classroom. "Try not to blow anything up!"

Warren laughed. "You know I can't promise that."

Max silently slid past Victoria and Mr. Jefferson, not even glancing at either of them. It was already going to be hard enough to concentrate without her concerning herself over Victoria. Honestly, she could throw herself at Mr. Jefferson all she wanted. He had already made it clear that he wasn't interested, and Max doubted that was going to change any time soon.

"Oh, Max," Mr. Jefferson called out, causing her to stop. Max reluctantly turned around and avoided meeting Victoria's hateful gaze.

 _God, she's such a bitch. And I hate using that word._

"Y-yes, Mr. Jefferson?" Max managed.

Victoria rolled her eyes. Oblivious to her, Mr. Jefferson motioned for Max's hand. Max offered it, a little confused. "I thought I should return this," he said as he handed her back the picture. "I can see why you love your analog camera. To instantly receive the moment that you captured in the palm of your hand. No need to hurry over to the computer to manipulate it. Certainly, it has its appeal. And I think you should give this to Alyssa. It's a wonderful shot of her. Let's hope she feels the same way."

Max nodded before looking down at it. Frozen in time. Forever engaged. Passion always burning. Max couldn't help but love the fact that photography could do that. Life consisted of little moments, most of which went without notice. People simple never admired what was happening to them or next to them. But photographers did. They could frame a family walking together and evoke emotions from complete strangers. It truly spoke to Max's soul.

But now wasn't the time for that. Nervously, Max walked over to Alyssa, who was engrossed in a book. Alyssa spared her but a moment before curtly asking, "What do you want, Max? Or are you here to take another picture?"

"Uh, I wanted… Well," Max tried to explain, floundering at the curt response. She didn't want Alyssa to misunderstand her intentions. "I wanted to say I am sorry. I didn't think about you when I took that picture. I just thought about getting the shot."

Alyssa glared at Max from over her book. "What do you plan on doing with it? Post it up on social media for everyone to make fun of Alyssa the Book Worm?"

"Well, I wanted to give it to you," Max confessed before holding out the picture. "I know you might not believe me, but I took it because I wanted to capture your passion for literature. I-I've never been really good with expressing my own passion. The fact that you're so comfortable is amazing... and really cool."

Guarded, Alyssa took the photo and looked at it for a long moment. Her face gave away nothing. "Thanks, Max. I guess."

"We cool?"

Using the picture as her bookmark, Alyssa closed the book. "Yeah, we're cool," she concurred.

 _That's one disaster averted._

Now, if she could stop making a fool of herself, that would be nice.


	4. Absquatulate

Max was having a bad day, to say the least. Victoria and her cronies kept her up until 2AM with their asinine gossip. And, unfortunately, Max wound up turning her alarm clock off in her sleep. A scathing text message had woken her instead. Her mother had written to her explaining she was "disappointed" that Max had "forgotten" them. Max went to answer only to realize the time. Class had started 5 minutes previous. Dressing as fast as she could, she left her room in a disheveled state.

Mrs. Hoida was at least forgiving, much to Max's surprise. After all, it was only last week when she disrupted the class. But she merely told Max to sit down when she stumbled in 10 after the hour. Perhaps Mrs. Hoida sympathized, seeing Max's full exhaustion. Max hadn't the time to put on makeup, and her eye-bags were on display for the whole world to see. Honestly, Tuesdays were quickly becoming the bane of her school week.

Not that Warren was picking up on Max's mood whatsoever. He was jabbering on about something to do with his science class. Usually, Max loved to hear Warren get his nerd on. He was cute when he was passionate. But being around people right now just worsened her mood. She just wanted to listen to some Syd Matters songs and relax a few minutes.

 _Maybe I should slip into the girl's bathroom for a minute..._

Suddenly, Warren swung an arm around Max's shoulder. "So, I've been thinking," he said, his face dangerously close to hers, "that maybe you and I should catch a bus into town this weekend. You could show me around. Give me the Max Experience Tour."

Max attempted to squirm away, but clueless Warren simply moved with her. "There's not really much to see in Arcadia Bay outside of the lighthouse," she said, matter-of-fact.

"The goal wouldn't be to see things. It would be for us to get to spend some time together," Warren pointed out. He was getting braver, it seemed, in stating his true intentions.

Now more uncomfortable, Max tried to figure out a way to properly decline that wouldn't hurt Warren's feelings. He was such a nice guy, after all. She knew that he would make some girl happy. She simply doubted she was the right girl. "I-I don't know."

"C'mon, Max! It'll be fun." Warren was now looking at her in desperation. Those puppy dog eyes were hard to refuse.

"I really don't-" Max started to reply.

"Well, well, Max Caulfield. Take any photos today?" Mr. Jefferson inquired as he stepped up to the pair. His movements forced Warren to release Max and take a step back to make room.

Max offered Mr. Jefferson a genuine smile, a bit at a loss as what to do with his attention. "N-no, Mr. Jefferson."

"Nothing caught your eye?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, glancing over at Warren.

Scowling, Warren crossed his arms. He was clearly displeased by the fact that he had been interrupted in the middle of the conversation. However, he was too respectful of teachers to outright say so. Max, in part, was grateful for the intervention. "And you, Mr. Jefferson?"

"I went to the beach and took some sunrise shots. I've been trying nature as a muse for the last few weeks. Seeing how a different setting alters my sight," Mr. Jefferson remarked.

Max tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You have to consider different angles for nature in comparison to other people. Angles that I have gotten used to ignoring. It's always good to push your own limitations," Mr. Jefferson said. The warning bell rang. With that, he looked at Warren. "Best be off to class, no? I'll see you in a minute, Maxine."

"It's just Max!" Max shouted after him as he sauntered down the hall.

"So that's the famous Mr. Jefferson," Warren commented. His scowl hadn't budged an inch. "He seems... pretentious."

Max heard a hint of jealousy. "He just says what he thinks," she pointed out. "I appreciate it. Even if I don't agree with everything he says, I can at least understand why he says it."

"I suppose," Warren mumbled, clearly not wanting to give way on the subject. Reinvigorated, he looked back at Max. "Seriously, though, consider my offer. It could make for a fun weekend."

Max forced a smile to her face. "I… I'll consider it. But I doubt-"

"Thanks, Max!" Warren called out before sprinting off. His classroom was on the second floor. No doubt he would be arriving just on time to be considered tardy.

Ducking into Mr. Jefferson's class, Max sat down at her table and began to unpack her things. His class was by far her favorite. Mr. Jefferson was always usually so animated albeit also long-winded. His rants sometimes left Max scrambling to take notes. At one point or another, she usually gave up and just committed to listening. She just prayed it wouldn't be on a test when she did, though.

Mr. Jefferson stood at the front of the room, his eyes scanning from student to student. He usually would take a moment, Max noticed, to let them calm down once the second bell had rung. "Today, we're going to be discussing-"

"Mr. Jefferson," Victoria called out, not even caring to raise her hand. Sometimes, Victoria's brashness stunned Max. She could never imagine cutting a teacher off mid-sentence. Particularly not Mr. Jefferson.

Sighing, Mr. Jefferson said, "Yes, Victoria?"

"Rumor has it that there's going to be a contest soon," she explained. "Is that true?"

"Yes. Now, as I was saying, today we're going to be discussing a new opportunity for you to take the most important step as artists: putting your work out there. Thus, Blackwell Academy will be participating in the famous _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest. The winner will take a trip to San Francisco, where you'll be feted by the art world. It's great exposure, and it can kickstart a career in photography." With that, Mr. Jefferson began to pass out flyers.

 _Oh, wowsers._

By now, everyone had straightened up. Even Max. Such opportunities were rare, especially for a competition to be as small as Blackwell's pool of participants. Max took a flyer and looked down at it. An everyday hero. What even was an everyday hero? Her mind immediately went to the obvious: police officers, military, firemen, first responders…. Everyone would submit photos like that. Instead, she needed to find something unique.

"I expect everyone to enter. The deadline is October 9th, which gives you almost a month. I would advise you to think carefully before submitting a photo. This is a serious competition, not homework." With that, Mr. Jefferson returned to his place in front of Daniel's table. "Speaking of homework…"

Max reached down into her bag. She pulled out her journal, notebook, pencil bag, camera… Then her heart sank. Checking the pockets, she became more frantic as each one turned up empty.

 _Are you shitting me? Could this day get any worse?_

"Max? Your photograph?" Mr. Jefferson pressed, standing in front of her.

Shoulders slumping, Max mumbled, "I'm sorry, Mr. Jefferson. I must have forgot it in my room."

Mr. Jefferson frowned with displeasure. "Never forget your work, Max."

Victoria sneered, "It's fine, Mr. Jefferson. We all know it's just another one of her selfies."

Taylor laughed. Blood rushed to Max's face. Anger superseded embarrassment. Although she couldn't deny that many of her homework projects had amounted to her taking a selfie, she hated the fact that Victoria always implied that she was subpar because of it. Why couldn't she see that instant selfies were also a wonderful form of expression? It seemed Mr. Jefferson was the only one who truly understood.

"Shh," Mr. Jefferson replied. Sitting back in her chair, Victoria quieted down. "Max, I'll let you bring your photograph to me after school, but I will have to deduct points for lateness."

"Yes, Mr. Jefferson," Max replied numbly. She sank back into her seat and frowned. Mr. Jefferson's class was the one course she was doing really well at. Every other class, her grade was a strong B. But Max cared about this class. If it was the only one she received an A in then she would consider her year at Blackwell a success.

 _You can't do that if you're just going to forget your homework, dummy._

Mr. Jefferson set the photographs on his desk. "Today, we're going to talk about 'the decisive moment,' an idea which has defined street photography and photojournalism as we know it. Now, does anyone know who coined this term?"

"Henri Cartier-Bresson," Victoria immediately answered. She then smiled smugly at Taylor.

"Very good, Victoria. Cartier-Bresson believed that there were magical split-second moments in the world. Not magical like Harry Potter, before any of you get smart. But in that second, there existed a perfect visual harmony: interactions between people, movement, light, and form. Cartier-Bresson believed that photographers deal with moments which are constantly vanishing. And once they have vanished, nothing can bring them back again. Therefore, a photographer must be attentive, inconspicuous, and trust their instincts. They must always respond to reality, never trying to manipulate it into something it's not. He believed the integrity of a photo was in its honest reflection."

Max listened as Mr. Jefferson continued with the importance of knowing one's own equipment. Split-second moments couldn't be captured if one was too busy fumbling with camera settings. The rest of the class consisted of Mr. Jefferson analyzing everyone's choice of capture. He spent the most time talking about Max's analog camera. He noted that he appreciated the divergence from the digital world, an aspect sometimes forgotten in modern society, and how it was perfect for such moments because the photo came out the instant the moment ended. Although Max tried to take heart, she couldn't help but notice Victoria's growing jealousy. It was probably best not to gloat. By the end of it, he assigned for them to find their own split-second wonder. An assignment that would be due at the beginning of next week.

The bell rang, and Victoria descended upon Mr. Jefferson as a vulture would a carcass. It seemed that every day, she was trying her best to win Mr. Jefferson over. Sometimes - more often than Max cared to admit - she was a bit worried that Victoria was succeeding. Her mind flashed back to earlier, when Mr. Jefferson had stepped in. Max had felt a rush when he spoke to her and her alone. Being her idol aside, there was certainly something addicting about having his full attention. She didn't get it often, but when she did, it left her craving more.

She made her decision. Collecting her items, Max slung her bag back over her shoulder. She exited the classroom and turned left instead of right. She pushed open the front door as that thought drifted into her mind. As soon as her feet hit the pavement, she started to jog. Victoria would stall him for at least ten minutes before he pardoned himself for lunch. It would be enough time. She took the steps by twos before rushing into the dorms. Up the stairs she went, slightly berating herself for being so out of shape.

Max burst into her room and immediately began her hunt. She rifled through drawers, cleaned up her sofa, even checked all of her folders. Finally, she turned to her desk. She searched on it, checking the books littered about. Lifting her laptop, she watched her photo fall to the floor. No wonder she missed it that morning in the whirlwind of trying to get to class. Snatching it up, she spun on her heels and was out the door. She pushed herself back across the grounds. By then, most of the students had filed into the cafeteria. Time was running out. Jogging down the hall, she saw Mr. Jefferson just outside his classroom, locking his door. He looked at Max quizzically as she rushed over.

"Here," she panted out, shoving the picture in his hands.

"Max, I said after school, not after class," he reminded her.

"I know. But I just wanted to prove that I had done my homework. I just forgot it," she managed to say. She placed her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

 _I need to start exercising more._

Mr. Jefferson looked at her photo. The assignment had been to take a picture of some part of the weather. He didn't particularly care what type of weather either. A shot of a clear, blue sky could be just as impressive as a thunderstorm. It depended on the students to discover what they truly wished to capture. But he had given them a week since weather "wasn't exactly a cooperative model."

Max had taken a few shots, but she was never quite happy with them. That Sunday, though, the skies had opened and drenched the campus. Despite living in Seattle, Max still saw a beauty in rain. She might not love it as much as she used to, but that hardly mattered to her. This was her moment. She felt it in her core. Thus, she grabbed her camera and tripod. She set up the tripod under the dorm's awning, shielding her camera from the damaging rain. Then she found her angle: a perfect shot of a puddle, still being filled by the rain. A few timers later, and she had her shot.

It wasn't quite a selfie. The only part of Max that was in the shot was her rain boots, which were captured just sinking into the puddle to cause a splash. Water sprang both up and fell down. A second of childish behavior on her part, to be sure. But she felt it also captured something. What, she wasn't sure, but _something_ was there.

And given Mr. Jefferson's expression, she hadn't been wrong. "You truly have a gift, Max," he murmured softly, looking up at her.

"Do I?" Max breathed out the words, almost scared of the answer. She hadn't wanted to sound so desperate. She didn't want him thinking she was fishing for compliments. But this was her idol speaking to her. His words meant _everything_ to her.

Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "Yes. You can find the purest moments in life. Whilst everyone else tried to become a National Geographic photographer, you found the innocence in weather. You made it about human nature, blending both aspects. You should be proud. Although this does put me in quite a conundrum."

Confused, Max asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because I will always give the best photograph the highest grade, if only by a point or two. Unfortunately for me, your photograph happens to be the best. But I also said I would reduce points due to you being late handing it in. Now, how am I going to grade the other photographs fairly by comparison? Do I reduce all grades to reflect a proper curve?" Mr. Jefferson pressed. With that, he shook his head. "It is clear that you did not take this a few minutes ago to cover for forgetting. I will waive the deduction just this once. But Max, don't forget your homework again."

A relieved laugh bubbled out of Max. "I won't, Mr. Jefferson. Promise."

"Good. Now, go enjoy lunch. Or whatever is left of it in the cafeteria. I'm sure you can probably still manage to scrounge up a nice sandwich," Mr. Jefferson said. "The vultures of Blackwell usually miss a good meal or two in their savaging."

Max laughed at his joke. "Only because they want to get to their nests around campus."

"Well, they say birds of a feather flock together. And we both know gossip doesn't spread itself," Mr. Jefferson stated, offering her an encouraging smile. "Speaking of which, where do you nest?"

"Wherever the view's the nicest," Max replied vaguely. "I don't have a 'flock' so to say."

Mr. Jefferson blinked, his eyes shifting to full alertness. "You don't?"

"I-I mean, I have friends. Just not those kinds of friends," Max explained, scrambling to dismiss any concern he might feel. It wasn't as though she was _lonely_ , after all. "Besides, some alone time can be really nice. Living in a dorm gets a bit overwhelming after a point."

"I feel every artist does well with some alone time now and again," Mr. Jefferson concurred. Then he paused, grimacing as he looked past Max. "Jeez. Will she never give me a break?"

Turning, Max found Victoria just down the hall from the two of them. She was walking over, her footfalls becoming more determined with each step. "Would you like me to distract her, Mr. Jefferson? So you can get some 'alone time' for once?"

"Would you think less of me if I said yes?" Mr. Jefferson half-jested, looking back down at Max. At least his eyes seemed full of mirth again.

Max offered him a sympathetic smile. "No. Everyone sees how she's always all over you, and you're nothing but patient about it. Go ahead and slip out the back. I'll keep her occupied as you make your escape."

"You make me sound as though I'm a villain," Mr. Jefferson teased. "Thank you, Max. I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he turned around and headed towards the stairwell. There was an emergency exit back there that wasn't rigged to alarm when opened. He opened the door with a bang and descended.

"Mr. Jefferson!" Victoria called out loudly, her pace picking up to a light jog. "Mr. Jefferson!"

Max stepped in front of Victoria, blocking her path. "Mr. Jefferson has a meeting he's off to right now," she lied. It sounded so smooth that she almost believed it herself.

"And what were _you_ doing with Mr. Jefferson before his meeting?" Victoria sneered, halting in front of her. She flicked her hair out of her eyes and examined Max up and down. "Trying to guilt him into not reducing your grade? You probably can't afford it anyway."

Bristling, Max pressed her lips together. Victoria acted high and mighty so often that she felt a need to kick her off her high horse. "Actually, I was giving him the photograph. I just left it on my desk in my dorm room."

"Yeah, right. You probably went out back to take a quick selfie," Victoria accused, her eyes narrowing. "Mr. Jefferson might fall for your waif, hipster bullshit, but I see right through you. You want to be special to him, but you don't have what it takes."

Max scoffed, "And you do? I watch him reject you ever single day. But you just can't take the hint."

"That's just because I haven't sealed the deal yet," Victoria said dismissively. She stuck a hand on her hip. "But just you wait. I'm going to win the _'Everyday Heroes'_ content and fly to San Francisco. Once I step into the spotlight, he will see me for what I truly am. And you'll just be another hipster student, fading into the background."

"You're so full of yourself, Victoria," Max responded haughtily.

Eyes wide, Victoria mockingly placed a hand over her open mouth. "Oh, you hurt my feelings with such mean words," she jeered. She dropped her mask of faux surprise.

Max stepped forward, glaring up into Victoria's eyes. "Mr. Jefferson will never be desperate enough to sleep with you."

There was a flicker of emotion for a moment in Victoria's eyes. To Max, it appeared to be doubt... or perhaps fear. Either way, she knew she had hit a nerve. Victoria rose to her full height, towering overhead. "We will see about that!"

"Fine then. How about we make a bet?" Max taunted, taking a step forward. "Since you're so confident."

Quirking one eyebrow, Victoria responded, "What might that be?"

"You get until the eighth of October to woo Mr. Jefferson and convince him to sleep with you," Max said. "And you get photographic proof. Do that, and I will not speak to Mr. Jefferson outside of class. But fail, and you have to leave Mr. Jefferson alone outside of class instead."

Victoria hesitated. This time, Max could definitely make out the uncertainty. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. By not taking the bet, she was all but admitting that she didn't think she could manage it. But if she took the bet and failed, she lost any chance of winning Mr. Jefferson. Staring her down, Max waited for her reply. Victoria then raised her head proudly, staring Max down. "Deal."

"Good." With that, Max pushed past Victoria. No doubt Mr. Jefferson was long gone by then. She still had to get something to eat, and she probably didn't have much time left.

Trekking across the grounds, Max noticed most of the other students had already finished their meals. A couple of the football players were passing a ball around. The skaters had taken up residence at the front of the school again, their domain for their tricks. A couple of cheerleaders, including Dana, were practicing a new routine near the fountain. Abruptly, the ten minute warning bell rang.

 _Oh, man. Are you cereal?_

Max's stomach growled. She had lost way more time than she thought. But there was no way she would be able to purchase her food, eat, and get to class in ten minutes. Maybe she could get something from the vending machine. Something was better than nothing, right? She hurried back in as she hunted for her wallet. Reaching the vending machine, she fully opened her bag and started rooting around. Her wallet was slim and had a tendency of hiding itself in the large crevices of her bag.

"Come on," she mumbled to herself.

"Hey, Max!"

Looking up, Max saw Kate walking over to her. "Hey, Kate. What's up?"

"I just ran into Mr. Jefferson. He told me to give you this," she explained before offering Max a wrapped sandwich. "He also mentioned something about you helping him with vultures? Or him helping you with vultures? I-I won't lie; I didn't quite catch it all."

Max all but snatched the sandwich from Kate's hand. "Thank you so much, Kate," she responded before sinking her teeth into it. Ham, lettuce, and cheese had never tasted so good. "This is fantastic."

"Well, I think it would be hard for him to mess up making a sandwich," Kate offered, half-joking. Then she checked the time. "See you, Max!"

For a moment, Max didn't process the words. She mumbled out her goodbye as she headed for her Science lab. As she walked into the door, though, she finally realized what Kate had said. She stared at the sandwich for a long moment. Was she actually eating part of Mr. Jefferson's lunch? Her brain didn't really know how to process that thought. In any case, she appreciated it. It would at least stave her off for the next hour or so.

Max continued eating without another thought, merry beyond saying.


	5. Súton

"Max Caulfield, are you _falling asleep_ during class?" Mrs. Grant's usually kind voice sounded strained with disbelief. "Am I boring you that much?"

Snapping her eyes open, Max forced herself to sit up straight. "N-no, Mrs. Grant."

Mrs. Grant eyed her a moment and frowned. Despite her obvious exasperation, she turned around and continued writing on the board. Max let out a deep, cleansing sigh. It was getting worse, she knew. Last night, Victoria had kept her up until 3AM with a "girls night in" Vortex Club meeting. She then rose a few hours later for her morning shower.

 _When was the last time I even got a full night's sleep?_

Max genuinely could not remember. She had been at Blackwell Academy for just over a month now. Victoria plagued her every night she could. And before her departure, Max had trouble sleeping because she was so nervously excited about starting the school year. She tossed and turned night after night, wondering what Blackwell Academy would hold for her. Would she make friends? Would she be able to keep up with her work? Would she be able to impress Mr. Jefferson with her photographs? Would he understand her passion for her old analog camera? Would she be mocked for her love of selfies?

She told herself she didn't care what her classmates thought. And that was true. Frankly, her classmates could mock her all they wanted. It just proved that they weren't good company to keep. But if Mr. Jefferson thought poorly of her - well, Max wasn't sure how she would cope with her idol disapproving. And that's what kept her up the nights before coming to Blackwell.

Well, it wasn't only that. Max had yet to contact Chloe to let her know she was back in town. Every time she thought about it, she convinced herself that she would reach out tomorrow. And tomorrow always came and went. Honestly, she knew she should just call and get it over with, but she was still so apprehensive. What for, she couldn't truly put her finger on. But it was enough.

Max had also avoided the Two Whales Diner like the plague, not that she dared to trek too far into town. She didn't know if Joyce still worked there, but she wasn't about to test her luck. Although nowadays, she had some serious cravings for bacon and eggs. Joyce had always been the best chef Max ever knew. She was also like a second mother to Max, and Max missed her almost as much as she did Chloe.

 _I must have disappointed them both…_

"Anyone have any questions before we start the practical session?" Mrs. Grant inquired.

Max zoned back in and looked down at her nearly empty notebook.

 _Are you cereal right now?_

Quickly, Max glanced up at the board and began to copy the notes down as quickly as she could. It appeared that they were going more depth into climate change today. Mrs. Grant was a strong advocate for practical science. As she put it on their first day, "Learning what chemicals have explosive reactions is definitely fun, but just short of an armed intruder attacking the school, has no practical value. You all are on the cusp of entering college and the world. There are better things for you to learn to help you as an adult."

At least she hadn't spaced out during a chemistry lesson. Then she would have been completely screwed. Finishing her messy notes, Max looked up to see Mrs. Grant passing out some papers. "Since no one has any questions, we might as well get started. This is a historical timeline of summer temperatures for the last one hundred years in Arcadia Bay. You all are to project that the next ten years will look like if this graph continues undeterred."

Max took her packet and looked down at it. Global awareness was important, but the soft pattering of rain water against the windows was quite lulling. Max felt her eyes start to drift shut again as she focused on it.

"If you have any questions, I will be at my desk in the front. I'm happy to help, but I will _not_ be giving away the answers, so come with specific questions."

Hearing her teacher's voice caused Max to start again. She looked at the graph before her. It was fairly simple to follow. The changes in seasonal temperature started soon after the Industrial Revolution. But the recent years have seen the most dramatic fluctuations yet. Max frowned. This seemed as much math as it did science, and she wasn't particularly strong at either of them.

But the students around her already seemed to be working out their graph. Max looked back down at hers and examined the last ten years. That was probably most vital in figuring out the next ten, right? Max worried her lip as she grabbed her calculator and set about working through the problems. Just as she finished, the bell rang, causing her to jump. She really had lost herself in the assignment this time.

"Turn in your packets before leaving. Make sure to read chapter nine for next class! I'm considering giving a quiz come Monday," Mrs. Grant warned.

Max reached her desk and set her packet on the pile. She hoped she at least got some of her answers right, or that Mrs. Grant could at least see how she got it, given all her mathematical equations were sprawling across the page. Turning to leave, she walked towards the back door. Mrs. Grant's classroom was twice the size as others, thanks to the lab tables required. The back door was directly across from Mr. Jefferson's classroom. She looked up to find Mr. Jefferson talking to Stella about something. Max felt a wash of disappointment.

 _So much for sneaking a minute of Mr. Jefferson's time._

Since the incident with Victoria, Max hadn't exchanged a private word with Mr. Jefferson whatsoever. She didn't feel as though he was avoiding her, per say. He just always had his hands full with Victoria. But now Stella was flashing him some seriously crazy eyes. Max couldn't judge. It was hard to not swoon over such an attractive, famous teacher. The fact that he didn't respond to Victoria's constant flirting meant that he at least had good taste. Not that that was shocking.

Mr. Jefferson looked up, his dark eyes catching Max's blue ones. Max started, not having expected him to notice her. He tilted his head, as if silently asking her if she needed something. It was egotistical of her to think that he would abandon a conversation with another student if she asked, but her heart fluttered at the thought. Flushing, she gave a small wave, hoping that it wouldn't look awkward, and quickly grabbed her earbuds. She all but crammed them in her ears before walking over to her locker.

She should probably be grateful that Stella was there. Honestly, she had nothing to really talk about, and Mr. Jefferson might have been frustrated with simple small talk taking up the time when he could be eating instead. Not only that, she didn't want to come off as another girl throwing herself at him. He clearly already had his hands full with Victoria and Stella, amongst others. But then again, she genuinely wanted to have a relationship with him, too.

 _Not that like…_

Her mind scolded her with a lie. Certainly, she had thought about being _with_ Mr. Jefferson. The thought of being his muse was intoxicating. Capturing his interest would be the greatest flattery. But it was nothing more than a fantasy, she knew. And probably a common one at that. What girl with eyes wouldn't?

 _Lesbians._

Her mind reminded her, checking her own heteronormative thoughts. For her field, open-mindedness was everything. But besides lesbians, she reconsidered, she doubted any girl would be immune to him. Even those without hope.

 _Like me._

Max sat down at her desk and grabbed her notebook. Pulling it out, she doodled a bit as the break period came to a close. Nathan Prescott the Insufferable was in this class, which made it her least favorite to attend. He was like Victoria's male clone only with way more money and attitude. And with that money backing him, he thought he could get away with anything. Like openly having drugs at Vortex Club parties. What frustrated Max the most, though, was that the school never proved him wrong, opting to turn a blind eye to his drug habits.

 _I guess money really does buy power._

Max looked out the window to find the rain still softly plodding to the ground. Although rainy days certainly had their photographic benefits, Max didn't like risking her camera to try to capture them. It was just another moment that remained out of her reach at her current state. Victoria, on the other hand, had brought in a recent underwater shot she had taken when vacationing on some tropical island.

"It's lovely," Mr. Jefferson noted when she showed it to him, "but lacking in true content."

Honestly, Max almost felt bad for Victoria, knowing that critique wounded her deeply. At least she was willing to put herself out there. Max still struggled just turning in assignments, always worrying that they weren't quite good enough. She was starting to wonder if even Blackwell was out of her league.

 _Mr. Jefferson doesn't think so._

Max involuntarily smiled at the thought. Mr. Jefferson was always encouraging her in class. When he passed back grades from their first assignment, he had written on hers that she had intuitively acted as a true artist should. He also wrote that she was a "rising star." Max looked at it whenever she became doubtful of her capabilities.

Now she wished she had gotten a moment to talk to him, even if it was about nothing. With his voice, he could soothe away any trepidation. And his sincerity always rang true. It was hard to find someone as passionate and open as he was about photography. And yet, he always remained a bit aloof to the class. Max supposed it was because of how many girls were throwing themselves at him. He had to keep a distance and promote boundaries. But to another extent, it seemed like it was always impossible to tell exactly what was on his mind.

"Settle down, class, settle down!"

Max only then realized the second bell had rung. Pulling her eyes away from the dreary weather, she braced herself for another droll class. She might have gotten here on a scholarship, but it certainly wasn't easily. She scribbled out her earlier doodle before writing the date at the top of her notebook page. They were going to discuss the unit circle for trigonometry today. Max drew one in her notebook, fighting the temptation to turn it into a bunny rabbit.

Class dragged. Max wasn't sure if it was the content or because it was Thursday or due to the weather or the fact that lunch was right afterwards. But the ring of the bell was a welcomed relief. Gathering up her items, Max shouldered her bag and hurried out of the room. Her stomach was practically gnawing on itself, given that she didn't eat breakfast that morning. Not that she usually ate breakfast, despite knowing that she probably should. But breakfast reminded her of Joyce's cooking, which reminded her of Chloe... and William. Those weren't memories she was fond recalling so early in the morning.

"Maximillionaire!" Warren called out, running down the hall to catch her before she took the stairs. "Where're you eating today?"

Blackwell Academy had a cafeteria for its students, but it was mostly used for the retrieval of food. Students could roam the grounds during lunchtime, although going into town to eat was discouraged. This meant that cliques would go to their "hangout" spots. Max, though, liked trying new places, seeing what photo opportunities existed in each one.

"I thought maybe the football field today," she said. It was just across the road, but she imagined the bleachers would have a nice shot of Blackwell Academy, still misty from the morning's rain.

Warren nodded. "I'll join you then. I've never eaten there either!"

Max figured he would join her, as he almost always did. It was only when Brooke caught him first that he didn't join her. Or was it couldn't? She nodded as they meandered their way down to the cafeteria. It was usually packed as soon as the first bell rang, students milling about, all trying to get their food and _go_. Max was one of them, heading up to the refrigerated sushi section. It was the least popular part of the cafeteria and was situated right next to the drinks, which meant it always made for a quick in-and-out stop. Grabbing a package of California rolls and a package of vegetable rolls, Max also snagged a water before heading over to the registers. Warren, meanwhile, was in the small queue to snag a pre-made sandwich and some chips. He usually didn't deter from his usual meal.

Handing the cashier her school ID to be scanned, Max collected her lunch. The cashier handed it back, and Max stepped away. She was just in between both register lines, careful to not block anyone wanting to leave.

"Outta the way, Hipster Max," Nathan snarled, knocking into Max's shoulder.

The pain was secondary to the shock. Gasping, Max staggered back as she regained her footing. He had knocked her from behind, and she hadn't been anticipating it. Victoria laughed loudly, causing a ripple effect with her Vortex groupies. Nathan sneered as he passed by, shouldering his way to the front of the line. People moved out of the way for the Prescotts, but only because they practically owned the school at this point. Even though Nathan wanted to be revered and respected, Max knew that he would never get that. Not with his attitude, at least.

"Max, you alright? I saw what Nathan did there," Warren called out. By the looks of it, he had just managed to finish paying.

Max nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. More surprised than anything. Nathan can be a real jerk, though."

"No kidding," Warren agreed, glaring at Nathan. "One of these days, he's going to mess with the wrong person. I hope that I get to be there to watch."

Although not a violent person by nature, Max couldn't help but silently agree. They left the cafeteria, strolling across the front lawn. The rain had let up towards the end of her last class. Even so, the clouds looked heavy, as though they could break open at any minute. A few minutes of pleasant silence passed between them before Warren said, "Oh, I forgot to get you that flash drive. Make sure to text me later so I remember to bring it to first period tomorrow."

"I will," Max offered as they passed the natatorium. She appreciated the fact that he was determined to help her sleep. Honestly, she should probably be more into someone this caring about her. But for whatever reason, she couldn't view him more as a friend.

 _Maybe I should try going on a date with him. That might help._

"Warren!" The call was so abrupt that even Max looked for the source of the voice. Brooke waved as she rushed over.

"Yo, Brooke!" Warren greeted. "What's up?"

Brooke panted as she got there. "I wanted to show you my drone. I haven't been able to take it out for a spin yet, but it's still really cool. A HiFly drone, so its distance is far superior to other products that are similar in size. It's the first one I've ever owned."

Warren hesitated, glancing over at Max. "That sounds really cool, Brooke. Maybe you can show me after school?"

"Why not now? We have time," Brooke pointed out directly, frowning as she glanced at Max. "Besides, it might be raining later."

Max caught the hint quickly. Victoria wore a similar expression when Mr. Jefferson spoke to Max. "We have loads of time. Why not check it out a bit, Warren? I'll go find us a nice place to sit in the bleachers. And feel free to join us if you want, Brooke."

"Thanks. Max," Brooke replied, clearly relieved that Max wasn't going to fight her for Warren's attention.

Max offered a small wave before trekking across the grounds again. It would be nice to have a moment to herself. Where Warren was outgoing, Max was introverted. She liked to be alone with her thoughts more often than not. Warren sometimes didn't seem to really get that. But at least he made Max come out of her shell. And it was because of him that she met people like Brooke, who was pretty cool in her own right. She definitely knew her tech.

 _Silver linings, I suppose._

Mindlessly, Max stepped onto the road. Her name was screamed, causing her to look up. It was then she registered the sound of a car engine. She looked over. A car was blazing down the road. Straight at her. Frozen, Max felt like a deer in the headlights. She begged for her body to move. Yet not even a muscle twitched. The car screeched on its brakes, hydroplaning. Her heart soared into her throat as she realized what was about to happen. Closing her eyes, she shrank up.

She felt a hand grab her arm and yank her back hard. Spinning on her heels, she staggered into something far softer than metal. Then she felt her equilibrium fail her. She fell, landing on someone. The person let out a pained "oof" from the impact. Shaking, she gripped the material underneath her fingertips. Her heart pulsed in her throat. She buried her face into what she now realized was a vest, trying desperately to calm herself down. Expensive cologne filled her nostrils. It smelled wonderful. A hand landed in her hair, stroking it.

"Max, it's alright. You're safe," Mr. Jefferson soothed quietly. She could barely hear his voice over the pounding of blood in her ears.

"Holy shit. She a'ight?" a thick accent inquired. "I did'na think she'd just step out like that."

Mr. Jefferson's grip on her tightened. "She's fine. Just shaken," he replied curtly. "Lucky for you. If you had hit her, you would have had serious federal charges pressed against you."

"Wha-?" the driver echoed. "She did'na look!"

"And just how fast were you going in a 20 mile per hour zone?" Mr. Jefferson bit back, his tone now threatening. Max had never heard him sound so aggressive before. "Because I am guessing our math teacher can quickly figure out your speed with just our security cameras."

Max's shaking reduced to trembles. Slowly, she started to realize that she was _in Mr. Jefferson's arms_. He was holding her. Her heart changed its pace upon that thought. Then her mind began to clear as awareness seeped in. Whispers buzzed around her. Pushing against Mr. Jefferson's chest, she stared down at him for a moment before glancing back at the driver. He was a portly man, balding, with hands balled into fists and a red face.

"Max, are you alright?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, his tone resorting back to its previously calming state.

Swallowing hard, Max glanced around and found a small crowd around them. All their eyes were on her. "I-I think so," she finally managed to answer. She carefully got off him, stumbling to her feet. Immediately, her head spun, and she gripped it.

Mr. Jefferson got up as well. Gently, he tilted her head up. "Look at me," he coaxed. Max looked up at him. His eyes were filled with concern - although they were tinged with something darker, harsher - as he carefully examined her. In his glasses, she could see her worn expression with dark circles under both eyes. Her hair was disheveled. "You're still suffering from shock. We should get you to Nurse Barenchi before your adrenaline wears off."

Max nodded stiffly, pulling out of his grip. "Ok," she managed to say, her voice sounding strange to even her.

Tilting his head with concern for a moment, Mr. Jefferson called out, "Mr. Madsen, get his information, would you? And if he refuses, call the police."

Mr. Madsen nodded sternly before stalking forward. At least he wasn't about to be intimidated by the portly man. Meanwhile, Mr. Jefferson walked behind Max. She always stayed two paces in front of him, wanting - _needing_ \- to walk on her own. She was strong, or at least wanted to appear as such. She climbed the steps slowly, keeping her head down. Eyes bored into her from every angle , and she only felt reprieve when she finally entered the school. Walking down the corridor, she heard Mr. Jefferson's sure steps behind her. It was comforting.

She pushed open the door to the stairs. She climbed up the first set of stairs before hitting the landing. Finally, her mind processed what had happened.

 _I almost died._

Anxiety seized her. Her knees gave out as she gasped for air. Her mind was fixated on that singular thought. Mr. Jefferson caught her before she hit the ground, lifting her up and letting her rest against him once more. "Shhh. Don't cry," he murmured.

Still panting, Max then felt the wetness on her cheeks. When had she started to cry? "I-I'm so sorry. I don't know why I'm like this," she managed to stammer, trying to find her legs again.

Chuckling, Mr. Jefferson said, "Perhaps it's connected to the fact that you were almost hit by a car. It's alright to break down about that. But you should try taking deep breaths. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth."

Max listened to his instructions as best she could. At first, it was difficult to control her breathing. Her lungs wanted more air faster than what her nose allowed. But she focused, letting out a shallow shuddering breath. Then she took another, larger one in. The one that followed that was easier. Her fingers curled around his vest again, and she clung to it openly. Mr. Jefferson's arms tightened around her, and she could have sworn she felt him press his lips to the top of her head.

Although it took a minute, Max eventually righted herself. It wouldn't do her any favors to depend on him longer than necessary. "Are _you_ alright, Mr. Jefferson?" she finally thought to ask. After all, she had landed on top of him. If anything, he was probably the one who needed to see Nurse Barenchi.

"Thank you for asking, Max, but I'm fine," he reassured her. "You gave me quite a fright there. I wasn't sure I would make it to you in time."

"No one's more glad for that than I," Max jested weakly. She started back down the hall. "Thank you. For saving my life."

"Just promise me you'll look both ways before crossing the street from now on," Mr. Jefferson said as they reached the nurse's office. He opened the door for her.

Nodding, Max managed to smile. "I'll do that."


	6. Acatalepsy

The weekend was busy. Several girls on the floor stopped by to check in on her, but all of them inevitably wanted to talk about the accident. Whenever it was brought up, Max felt only anxiety. She kept telling them that she wasn't ready yet to talk on it. Taylor had been cruel enough to tell her what everyone else seemed to be thinking, "You didn't even get hit. And _Mr. Jefferson_ saved you. So why not just tell us what that was like because that's all we want to know anyway."

Max told her to leave right after.

However, there was a silver lining. Victoria left Max alone for the most part. It seemed that even she drew a line when it came to bullying, and near death crossed it. Max appreciated the fact that she could actually get some sleep before 3AM for once. Even though she knew it wouldn't last.

Unfortunately, the silence didn't particularly help. Max's nights were instead plagued by nightmares. Or, truthfully, just one nightmare. She would be walking down a deserted road. Sometimes, it was a highway. Other times, it was a small, country road. No matter what, though, she would heard a car's engine and turn just in time to see it hit her. She jolted awake with a cry every time, sweaty and shaking.

All too quickly, Monday rolled back around. Max rose at her unusually early time and stretched before grabbing her shower bag and towel and wandering down the hall. Reaching outside the girls' showers, she heard voices seeping through the door. Max paused, surprised anyone else would be up this early. Carefully, she pressed an ear to the door.

"Are you sure about this, Victoria? I mean, she's so... well, you know."

Max pressed her lips together, wondering if they were talking about her. She wouldn't be surprised if Victoria left her alone only to lull her into a sense of security. Frankly, a prank could be just around the corner.

"Of course I'm sure about this, Courtney. She's so stuck up that she _needs_ to know what a little fun is. What's the harm anyway? She'll finally get to experience what it's like to be a real teenager," Victoria answered.

"Yeah, but a Vortex Club party can get pretty hardcore. Especially for newbies," Courtney said, her worry permeating throughout her tone. "Maybe we should just invite her to a girls' night in."

 _Okay, they're definitely not talking about me. Victoria would never invite me to a Vortex Club party._

"No way," Victoria retorted. "Besides, she's already accepted the invitation. And Nathan volunteered to watch out for her. He'll make sure she's fine."

Footsteps approached the door, and Max dashed back and around the corner. The last thing they needed to know was that she had been eavesdropping. As soon as the door opened, Max rounded the corner and acted surprised to see them there. "Oh, hey," she managed lamely.

"Hey," Courtney replied before Victoria elbowed her in the side. She grimaced and rubbed her ribs.

Facing Max, Victoria asked, "What do you want, attention whore?"

"A-attention whore?" Max echoed, surprised by the new insult.

"Please, you think people are blind? Everyone saw how you threw yourself into harm's way to get Mr. Jefferson's attention. Pathetic, really."

Max hugged herself with one arm, frowning. "That's so not cool, Victoria. I didn't know the car was there."

"Sure. And I'm sure the longing stares you give him in classroom are just your admiration for your idol," Victoria sneered back. "Nice try, Maxine, but I see right through your game. And it's not going to work. Mark's already coming around to my advances. It won't be long before you have no hope at all of getting his attention. Sad face."

 _Who actually says 'sad face'?_

Max hardened her expression into a scowl. "You're wrong, Victoria. He's never going to be with someone as desperate as you. He's just being nice to you because he doesn't want to hurt your feelings. But if you think that it's going to go any further than that, you totally wrong."

"Shut the fuck up," Victoria snapped. Max had clearly hit a button - _or perhaps five_ \- with her commentary. "Ugh, let's go, Courtney. I can stand to look at this selfie-absorbed bitch any longer."

Victoria knocked into Max as she passed her. Not trailing far behind, Courtney caught up with her, looking like a lost puppy. Max was just glad she had enough backbone to not be trailing behind someone like Victoria during her year at Blackwell. Still mad, Max stalked into the bathroom and snagged the shower furthest from the door. It was the least temperamental one, and the only one that didn't suddenly fluctuate the water temperature whenever someone else used the toilet or sink.

Max wondered who the Vortex Club was considering initiating into its ranks. Clearly, it was a girl, but no one really stood out in Max's mind as Vortex material who wasn't already in the club. She shrugged the thought away as she scrubbed. No point in wasting any more time on them. Victoria probably wanted for everyone to be always thinking of her anyway. And that clearly included Mr. Jefferson. Max didn't believe her, though, when she bragged about her advances being effective. Mr. Jefferson was way too classy to date someone like her. Taking a dab of shampoo, Max began to scrub her hair.

 _How do you even thank someone for saving your life?_

Now, her "thank you" just seemed pitiable. It wasn't as though he had paid for her lunch. He had risked himself and pulled her out of the way of the speeding vehicle. Max's arm had bruised where he had grabbed her, his fingers defined on her otherwise alabaster skin.

She thought about baking him something, although her skills in the kitchen were unrefined to say the least. Honestly, she would probably sooner burn the kitchen down before making something properly edible. She had also considered writing him a personalized 'Thank You' card, but it seemed to fall just as short as her verbal thanks had. In the end, the only thought that kept returning to her was giving him a photograph. But of what?

Max had already become renown for her selfies in class. Mr. Jefferson didn't seem to mind, but Victoria made sure to mock Max nearly every day for her 'imposing narcissism.' Lately, Victoria had been taking more shots in class, but Mr. Jefferson never stepped in. Max didn't know if it was because he wanted the students to work it out for themselves or if Victoria's remarks weren't as bad as Max was making them out to be. But Max couldn't help her passion for selfies, just as she couldn't stop her love of photography.

Even so, she wanted to give Mr. Jefferson something special. She just couldn't decide on what was good enough. Her head spun in circles, twisting around the same three thoughts. The door to the bathroom opened. Coming out of her reverie, Max washed the shampoo out before quickly conditioning her hair. She must have lost track of time if other girls were starting to wake and wander in for their own morning routines. Rinsing her hair again, Max turned off the shower and quickly snagged her towel.

"Max?" Kate called out.

"Morning, Kate," Max greeted politely.

"Morning. Are you always up this early?"

As she dried her arms, Max said, "Yes. I'm normally out by now, but I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"I understand," Kate murmured. Her voice was almost too quiet for Max to hear. "If you ever need to talk, just text."

"Thanks," Max replied. Then she paused before poking her head out of the shower. Kate stood at one of the sinks with a toothbrush ready to go. "Hey, Kate? I - well - I was wondering. If somebody saved your life, how would you try to thank them?"

Kate considered it a moment, staring at her feet as she did so. Max appreciated the fact that she was willing to give it so much depth of thought. Finally, she replied, "I would try to live every day as exemplary as I can. To show them that their efforts have made a difference in the world."

 _That won't do at all._

Max pretended to nod thoughtfully. "Thanks, Kate." With that, she popped her head back in and kept drying herself. So a photograph - or perhaps several - really was her only answer to the question. She would have to take a weekend and go around Arcadia Bay. After all, Max had always had a knack in catching moments that Mr. Jefferson seemed to enjoy. Perhaps she could give him a new perspective of this tiny town that she had called home.

"I don't think he expects for you to do or give him anything," Kate mentioned after a long pause.

Hesitating herself, Max considered the thought. "I know. But I want to do _something_. Just saying 'thank you' just doesn't seem anywhere close to enough."

"Yeah, I can see that," Kate remarked. "It was..."

Max carefully wrapped her towel around her and poked her head out of the shower again. With anyone else, she would have just stepped out, but Kate was always super self-conscious, even around other girls. Max tried to be respectful of that. "It was what?"

"I won't lie; it was really hard to process everything happening. By the time I realized you were in danger, Mr. Jefferson was halfway to you," Kate replied quietly. "Nobody else was moving, though. It was like we were all watching some terrible movie that we knew we couldn't be a part of. That we couldn't alter."

"But it _wasn't_ a movie," Max objected, her voice thick with pain. She hadn't realized he was the only person trying to save her.

Kate quickly said, "I know, Max. I _know_. But in the moment… It's hard to explain. But you should understand. You didn't move from in front of the car either."

Max set her jaw, her defenses rising. "There was a car driving at _me_ , not anyone else," she replied, barely keeping the bite from her voice.

Clearly flustered, Kate replied, "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that we were in a similar situation. None of us were thinking clearly. Well, none of us besides Mr. Jefferson."

"Right." Max's tone was harder than she had intended. It was difficult to process the thought that, if Mr. Jefferson hadn't been there, she would have been struck. No one else would have acted. A shudder zipped down her spine.

"You know how I'm Mr. Jefferson's class assistant?" Kate started, looking Max dead in the eyes.

Max nodded. Of course she did. Kate probably had one of the most coveted positions in all of Blackwell. It suited her, though. Kate was too proper to try anything with Mr. Jefferson. If anything, she might be the only girl in the school who only looked at him in admiration without a touch of lust. And he probably needed that after dealing with the Stellas and Victorias of the world all day.

"Well, I sometimes help after school, and when I was leaving, I heard him in Principal Wells' office. I've never heard him angry before, but he... he was beyond angry." Kate's voice was starting to quieten, as though she was worried someone might overhear. "He was shouting. He said that the school should have had speed bumps installed to prevent such occurrences. That students' lives were worth whatever that cost."

Considering the words, Max murmured, "Well, he isn't wrong. Speed bumps would have prevented all that from happening. I can see why he'd be upset."

"Yeah, and Principal Wells agreed to bring it up at the next staff meeting. But then Mr. Jefferson asked if charges were going to be pressed against the driver, and - well…" Kate considered her words once more. Apparently, this was the part that she wasn't sure she should tell Max. "Principal Wells said that the administration is considering it at the current moment but that no charges had been pressed yet. They wanted to talk to you first."

Max felt dread ice her blood. She didn't want to talk or think about the accident anymore, but she should have suspected that Principal Wells would want to have a word. On the day of the accident, he had been too busy dealing with the driver and police. She had gotten back to her dorm after giving a small statement to an officer who found her in the nurse's office. She had hoped that would be enough. "I see."

"Max," she called out, forcing Max to look back up, "Mr. Jefferson has your back. If Principal Wells ever tries to force you to do something you don't want to, you should head straight for him. Okay?"

"Yeah," Max agreed numbly. "I will. We're lucky to have him for a teacher."

"Definitely," Kate agreed. However, her eyes slid out of focus.

Max recognized the look. She was sure she wore it whenever thinking about Chloe. "Everything alright, Kate?"

Coming back to the present, Kate blinked and looked up. "Hm? Oh, yes. Everything's fine. Sorry. I think I forgot to do some homework. I should go." She scurried out of the room without pause, not even caring to rinse of her toothbrush before going. Kate was a lot of things, but a good liar, she certainly was not.

Max stepped out of the shower now, towel carefully tucked in. She headed back to her room, able to hear the stirrings of her classmates beginning to rise as well. At least Victoria was nowhere to be seen. Opening her door, Max quickly changed into a white tee with a doe on it. She pulled her tawny jacket on over it before slinging her bag over her shoulders. Her hair was nearly dry, a true blessing of having short hair. It only took a few minutes for her to brush her hair and put on her makeup before she was back out the door.

Alyssa was pounding on Stella's door. "You have to get up. Class is starting."

Max smiled as she heard Stella shout back, "I'll get up in five. Just go without me."

 _She's not much of a morning person._

"You always say that, and you're always late. Come on, Stella!" Alyssa whined before pounding on the door again.

"You're a good friend, Alyssa," Max said once she got close enough.

Alyssa scoffed. "Too bad she doesn't think so."

Dana stepped out of her room just as Max passed by. "Hey, Max, wanna walk together?"

"Sure," Max answered.

Despite being in the Vortex Club, Dana had always been super nice to Max. She had been one of the girls who checked in on her over the weekend, too. She had brought with her some pictures from her last vacation to the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone National Park. She had mostly taken selfies, but Max loved pooling over them. Honestly, it was nice to see the photos from someone not studying photography. Dana just took pictures of whatever she wanted without concern for what others would think. Max envied that.

Dana opened the door to the stairwell, and they descended together. "Did you go to the football game on Saturday?"

"No. I wasn't really feeling up to it," Max replied honestly. But Dana was a passionate cheerleader, and Bigfoot spirit was always on her mind. "How was it?"s

"It was a good game. We were losing for the first half. It's so hard to try to get energy going in the crowd when you're losing. But then our guys got back out there, and they won it for us," she answered. A smile lit her features. "Comebacks really do make the best games."

Max giggled. "Only if you're on the winning side."

"True, true."

The conversation tapered off the moment they stepped outside. Dana's boyfriend, whose name Max couldn't remember to save herself, was waiting for her. Dana hesitated. It was sweet, Max, thought, that she wasn't going to forget her offer to Max just because her boyfriend popped up. But Max wasn't interested in being third wheel. Therefore, she bid Dana and her boyfriend goodbye before hurrying up the stairs towards the academic building.

Although there were several doors into Blackwell, they served only as emergency exits. Every student had to traipse through the front door in the morning, which went right past Principal Wells' office. Kate's warning rang in her head. Max waited a moment before seeing a cluster of students enter together. She went in right behind them, hoping to get lost in the mix.

"Miss Caulfield!"

 _Well, shit. That didn't work._

Max sheepishly turned towards Principal Wells. Some of the delinquent students remarked that the only reason he was the principal was because he was black and his surname was "Wells." However, Max knew better. Principal Wells was in the position he was in because he knew how to be an authority figure. Mrs. Grant told her once about how he had saved Blackwell from financial ruin. Clearly, he knew how to do his job. Unfortunately, she also found that rather intimidating.

"Yes, Principal Wells?"

Principal Wells relaxed his figure, an obvious attempt to reassure Max that this conversation was a friendly one. She wasn't buying it. "I wondered if I could have a minute of your time to discuss what happened Friday."

"Uh… I'm not sure. I really have to get to class," Max responded, glancing down the hall nervously. She had never been so eager to get to class before, but today, she would never complain about school again if it meant she could go.

"Your teachers have already been informed of your circumstances. They will understand if you are tardy today," Principal Wells informed her.

 _So much for the importance of academic pursuits._

Max frowned. Apparently, his request was more of a demand. Then perhaps she should make one of her own. "Would it be alright if Mr. Jefferson joined us?" Max tried not to grimace. That came out nothing like the condition it was supposed to be.

"I've already spoken to Mr. Jefferson separately about the matter," Principal Wells said, dismissing her idea in an instant. "Besides, I don't want you to feel pressured to say something specifically to please him."

Still uncomfortable, Max answered, "I understand. It's just…" There had to be _something_ she could say that would help him comprehend how difficult this was for her. Everyone wanted her to talk to them about it. And in they end, they all had wanted something from her: gossip, material for an article, or to live vicariously through the rescue, it didn't matter. Yes, she had nearly died. On school property, no less. Shouldn't she have more than 48 hours to come to terms with it? And shouldn't she not feel pressured by anyone to do what _they_ wanted of her?

 _"Justice never sleeps." Or something like that, I guess._

Principal Wells sighed in a defeated manner. "If Mr. Jefferson's presence would make this conversation easier on you, I would be happy to ask him to join us. But he has class, Miss Caulfield, same as you. There's no guarantee he will be able to step out."

"Thank you, Principal Wells," Max responded, relaxing. At least with Mr. Jefferson, she knew someone would be concerned for her interests first. Principal Wells, despite his caring persona, had a tendency to place the academy's needs over everything else.

Nodding, Principal Wells motioned to his office. "You head on into my office. I'm going to see if Mr. Jefferson can afford to lend us some of his time."

Max slipped past the secretary and stepped in, closing the door behind her. For a principal's office, it was remarkably posh. His chair looked as though it had fallen out of an IKEA store whilst the two chairs across from it were the same as those in the library. The far wall contained cabinets and shelves, stockpiled with books. Given the color coding, there was clearly some organization in their positions. Looking at the desk, Max saw a bronze bird sitting upon it.

 _Strange. Blackwell has the Bigfoot and Otters as mascots. Wonder why he has a bird._

Curious, Max picked it up. It was heavy. Her nearly nonexistent arm muscles flexed involuntarily as she lifted it higher. If this was thrown at someone, it would do some serious damage. She set it back down with a _thud_.

The door opened as if in response. Jolting, Max spun on her heels to see Principal Wells walking back in. Max felt anxious for a moment. She hadn't considered that maybe Mr. Jefferson wouldn't be able to come. Swallowing hard, she sat down in her seat. He walked in just then, just as scruffy and trendy as he always was.

"Hey, Max. You look worried. Is everything okay?" he asked, his brow pulling up in concern.

Nodding, Max felt relief finally allow her to relax in the chair. "I thought maybe you wouldn't be able to come."

"I thought something like this might come up, so I planned ahead. Although I doubt my students are particularly thrilled about their pop quiz," he responded.

"Well, now that you both are here, I am going to state for the record that this conversation isn't going to be pleasant for any of us. Miss Caulfield was nearly killed in a traffic accident that occurred right outside this establishment. I have seen the video, and there is no doubt in my mind that you saved her, Mr. Jefferson. You're quite the hero."

Mr. Jefferson stood beside Max, one hand on the back of her chair. "I only did what anyone at this school would have done, given the chance."

"But not just anyone did. Your quick thinking saved a young girl's life. You truly represent Blackwell. And because of that, I want you to be the chauffeur to the winner of the _'Everyday Heroes'_ contest. You'll get to fly, all expenses paid, to San Francisco."

"Thank you, Principal Wells. I'm honored. But there is a more important conversation to be had here. A young girl's life was at stake. Are you or are you not going to file charges?" Mr. Jefferson pressed.

Principal Wells sucked in a deep breath. "Well, that depends on Miss Caulfield here."

"What about me?" Max asked, confused.

"If you want to press charges, there are going to be… consequences," Principal Wells explained carefully. Max immediately didn't like the sound of that. "Obviously, there will have to be a more thorough police investigation. Interviews will be conducted. You'll be expected to fully cooperate with authorities. But, what's more, there is going to be quite some publicity around the event before and during the trial. Blackwell isn't some no-name school in the middle of nowhere. We're a prestigious academy."

"You want to make her your martyr," Mr. Jefferson accused, his voice rising.

Principal Wells raised a hand. "Mark, please just listen. We've kept the incident under wraps so far for Miss Caulfield's benefit. But sympathy would help our case."

"Then use me as your public showcase," Mr. Jefferson said, stepping forward. It was almost as though he was trying to shield Max. "Max has already been through enough without being hounded by the media. You don't need to garner sympathy by forcing the victim into the spotlight. Focus on the heroism displayed by your staff during a student's time of need, and there will be plenty of admiration for Blackwell and its administration."

Face hardening, Principal Wells puffed out his chest. "As a principal, I take my duties very seriously. Our first mission will always be to protect our students. We have everything that we need collected to go to the police. All I want is to make sure that this is what Miss Caulfieldwants."

Both men looked down at Max expectantly. Eyes wide, Max glanced between the two of them. Mr. Jefferson wanted to pursue charges. Certainly, Max could understand why. The man had nearly hit her. He might have hit Mr. Jefferson, too, if he hadn't been so quick. But she wasn't particularly interested in going through the difficulties and stresses of a trial. It would only dredge out the bullying and gossip, too. Max wanted to fade back into the background again.

"Will my pressing charges change any other actions Blackwell might take?" Max asked softly. She looked at Principal Wells.

Principal Wells frowned. "Not necessarily. It would help in us pushing our budget towards something like speed bumps, but it certainly wouldn't be required. I should be able to convince the administration and donors without it."

"Max, whatever you choose, you will have the full support of the Blackwell administration and staff. You don't _have_ to be their poster child if you don't want to be," Mr. Jefferson pointed out. "You can seek justice and retain anonymity, despite what Principal Wells likes to imply."

"Mark!" Principal Wells finally barked.

Mr. Jefferson stood up straight, and the two men glared at each other for a long moment.

"I would rather not press charges if it's going to cause more drama," Max confessed, forcing the two of them to look down at her. She flustered under their attention for a moment. "I would just rather put this entire incident behind me."

"Understandably so," Principal Wells said. "But Blackwell Academy is in the spotlight, particularly because we managed to obtain such a famous photographer as a teacher. Keeping this under wraps would take quite a bit of effort. And we might not be successful."

 _Bet you would be able to do it if the Prescotts asked you to, though._

Instead of voicing her thoughts, Max merely nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jefferson. I know you want me to press charges. But I just would like to go back to being just another Blackwell student."

"On the contrary, Max, you are the only one who has the right to object to this," Mr. Jefferson informed her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "If that's what you would prefer then that's what we'll do. No questions asked."

Max offered a weak smile. "Thanks for understanding."

"Of course." With that, he pulled back, and Max felt the loss instantly. Perhaps he wasn't as understanding as he claimed. "Unfortunately, I have to get back to my class. I worry that this pop quiz has become a group quiz."

Principal Wells nodded. "Yes. That will be all. Thank you both for coming in."

Max rose to her feet, silent as the weight of her words bogged her mind. Slipping out the door, she noticed Mr. Jefferson was not too far behind. Once they were out of the secretary's office, Max glanced up at him to find he appeared impassive. Anxiety welled up in her mind. "I-I'm sorry. If I disappointed you, I mean."

"I'm not disappointed, Max," Mr. Jefferson reassured her as they turned the corner. "Principal Wells clearly wanted to pursue this in a public manner or not at all. All you could do was choose the route which was best for you."

Comforted, Max felt her tension melt. "I would just really like to put this behind me. It's already caused enough trouble."

"Caused enough trouble?" Mr. Jefferson echoed. He tilted his head and examined her. "What do you mean by that?"

Max quickly covered, "I've been having nightmares. About the… accident."

"I see," Mr. Jefferson murmured. "The pain will fade with time. Remember: life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it."

 _I don't seem to be reacting very well, though._

"I'll try my best, Mr. Jefferson," Max replied as he reached his classroom.

Mr. Jefferson hesitated. "It might be a good time for you to throw yourself into your photography. Distract yourself a bit. You'd be surprised what a changed perception can do to your work." Without another word, he walked into his classroom.

Max trudged up the stairs. If nothing else, at least it was over. This incident would fade from the spotlight the moment new drama unfolded. And with a school like Blackwell, that drama was certainly just around the corner.


	7. Noctivagant

Satiated, Max sauntered down the hallway. Lunch had been particularly fulfilling today with Kate bringing in homemade cookies her sister Lynn had sent her. Honestly, Max never could refuse a good dessert. And Kate was certainly right when she said her sister knew how to bake.

But now it was time for favorite part of her photography class. Mr. Jefferson didn't lecture during lab. Instead, he offered them opportunities to find themselves within content. Sometimes, that meant staying in the lab and working with simple items or each other as models. Other times, that involved going outside. Max always loved it when they could escape.

Walking in, Max found Mr. Jefferson standing at the front, looking dapper as ever. Flustered, Max averted her eyes. She found him more attractive now than before, which she hadn't thought possible. She could still remember the broad expanse of his chest. His deep breaths contrasting her shallow ones. His arm tightening around her, protectively… possessively. Face flushing, Max quickly found the floor to be _very_ interesting.

"Mr. Jefferson?"

Recognizing Victoria's voice, Max looked up to find Victoria just brushing past her. Their bet was still on, and Victoria had yet to make headway. But every day, she tried to push for something. Max almost admired her determination. Almost.

"Yes, Miss Chase?" he replied. His lips were taut, more so than usual. It seemed that Victoria was wearing on him the wrong way. All the better for Max.

Victoria pulled a picture from her bag and handed it to him. "I would like to submit this as my _'Everyday Heroes'_ entry."

Mr. Jefferson looked at it and blanched. "Oh - um - well, I… I don't know what to say." Instinctively, Max took a step forward to see what on Earth could have evoked that reaction.

"You don't have to say anything," Victoria purred, placing a hand on his arm. "You are an everyday hero, Mr. Jefferson. I've always believed that for teachers, but you took it a step further. You deserve to be recognized."

"I already have been. I've been selected to chauffeur the winner of the _'Everyday Heroes'_ content to San Francisco," Mr. Jefferson responded, letting the picture fall more horizontal in his grip. "An announcement that I was going to make today."

"You're also going to San Francisco?" Victoria couldn't even keep the excitement quelled from her tone.

Max caught sight of it. Without thinking, she snatched it from Mr. Jefferson's hand. "Max!" he rebuked, reaching out to take it back. Max dodged the movement, her eyes never leaving the photo.

The picture was simple in its elements. In the outskirts of the photos were the backs of heads. Both students and faculty, from what Max could tell, were watching the scene before them. She and Mr. Jefferson were in the center of the photo. He had one hand on her arm, his arms clearly straining with the force of his pull. Meanwhile, Max had been caught mid-spin, her eyes still shut tight. She truly had been braced for an impact. The red sedan was only halfway in the scene, but its position was the most telling. It rested mere inches away from Max's body.

Max's lunch decided to revisit. Shoving the photo back into Mr. Jefferson's hands, Max barely made it to the trashcan in time. She curled over it, her stomach emptying its contents. The delicious lunch came back up foul and distorted. Although she had known she had come close to dying, she had no clue just _how_ close.

 _A few seconds. The difference between life and death._

"That's so disgusting," Victoria sneered.

"Enough!" Mr. Jefferson barked before kneeling down next to Max. He placed a comforting hand on her back. "Max, just take a few breaths."

"Don't touch me," Max snapped as she pushed him away. She didn't like people touching her when she was sick. Not that she had the presence of mind to explain herself. "I need to go the nurse's office," she said lamely. They both knew the nurse wouldn't be able to do anything for this.

"Of course. Take all the time you need. Come back only if you can," Mr. Jefferson answered, openly hurt by Max's outburst. However, he clearly wasn't going to push the matter any further. Something that Max was almost painfully grateful for.

With that, Max rose to her feet and hurried out of the room. She turned towards the main entrance. Life Drawing was the only course she had after Photography Lab, and she was certain she could get Daniel to give her his notes and the homework. Right now, she was going to go back to her room, play her guitar, and try to forget the epiphany that had just implanted itself in her mind.

Her trip back was in a numb haze. Although the closer she got to her room, the easier it became. It was almost as though the distance was making a difference. She knew that wasn't the case. As soon as she walked in, she flopped onto her sofa. Snagging her guitar, she began to play a soft melody, soothing to her ears. Her fingers plucked the strings out of muscle memory. Playing guitar was one of the few things outside of photography Max enjoyed enough to avidly pursue.

 _You almost died._

It wasn't the first time she had had this thought. But every time she had it, the anxiety that followed was lessened. Accepting death was a part of life. That much, Max knew. She just never thought she would confront it at such a young age. Shuddering, she missed a chord. Her fingers fumbled before finding the melody once more.

Of course, Max knew there was photographic evidence. Or, to be more precise, video evidence of the accident. Principal Wells had mentioned it. But she hadn't realized that there might be anything outside of that. Until today...

 _Victoria took the shot_.

Max wasn't sure whether she should be bitter or not. After all, Victoria was the only one in the frame of mind to capture that moment. And of course it would have been Victoria. She truly had a photographer's instincts and reaction time. But Max herself felt as though her memory had been infiltrated. Tainted. This knowledge did nothing good for her conscious. Only time would tell if this would help her heal or remain as salt in the wound.

 _But she wasn't wrong to use it as her entry._

Without a doubt, Mr. Jefferson _was_ an 'everyday hero.' Max knew that better than anyone else. And that picture perfectly depicted the very soul of the contest. No doubt Victoria would win with that entry. And here was Max, still trying to figure out exactly what she was going to do for her own. It truly was on the backburner, though.

Max stopped playing. Still numb, she searched about for something to do. She went through the motions of several actions, from taking a shower to doing homework to eating dinner. Time slipped by freely. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the lights illuminated the grounds in their unnatural glow. Hidden in her room, Max could still hear the life happening around her. It was comforting and painful at the same time.

Tonight, Max knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Her tossing and turning left her restless and frustrated. Victoria's posse had only stayed up until midnight, planning the next Vortex Club party. It was just around the corner now. They made sure the whole hall knew when they went to bed, though, slamming their doors shut for the night. As the silence seeped in, Max found her mind wouldn't settle. Every time she started to relax, she recalled the picture - how close she had come to being hit.

 _Just get over it already. Jeez. You didn't actually die._

She knew these words to be true, but they brought her no comfort. Glancing at her phone, she noticed it was 12:14AM. She looked outside. A walk usually did her some good whenever her thoughts were overwhelming her. But curfew had already passed, and Max had never snuck out of the dormitories before. Not that Max had been a rule breaker at home either. Besides, what was there to do in the middle of the night? Arcadia Bay was quiet enough during the day that nighttime all but constituted it as dead.

In addition, security was usually milling about the place until 11 of so. Max didn't understand why Mr. Madsen didn't go home sooner. Didn't he have a family to return to? She had seen a wedding ring on his finger, so he was certainly married. Part of her felt sorry for the lady, given how intense he could be at times.

 _Might as well live a little, right?_

Max smiled at her own little pun. Getting up, she slipped out of her room and crept down the hallway. She decided not to bring her bag with her, not wanting to be encumbered more than necessary. Slipping out the dorm doors, Max quietly crept around the Principal's house. The residence had also been funded by the Prescotts. It was certainly a nice little bonus for whoever took up the position despite coming with additional responsibilities. But Principal Wells wasn't exactly renowned for busting students sneaking out at night, so Max wasn't overly concerned.

Trotting up the stairs, Max gazed up at the nighttime sky. Arcadia Bay had far less light pollution than Seattle, and Max had forgotten just how beautiful the stars could be. She walked over to the fountain, sitting down and taking a moment. It felt like eons since she had first arrived. She still recalled taking that picture of the coins, her first ever photograph at Blackwell Academy. And she hadn't forgotten Mr. Jefferson's face upon seeing it. At that moment, she had truly felt like they had clicked. That an innate understanding existed between them.

 _I feel so much older now. Like I've aged by years instead of months._

The front door opened. Max's heart nearly leapt out of her throat as she jumped to her feet. Who was possibly still around at this time of night? She glanced around, looking for somewhere to hide. Just as she took her first step, she heard her name called out.

"Max? What are you doing out here?" Mr. Jefferson stated, walking down the stairs.

Max replied, "Oh, hey, Mr. Jefferson. I-I didn't realize anyone was still around, and I just wanted to get some air."

"How're you feeling? Any better?" Mr. Jefferson asked. He reached forward to touch Max's head before stopping himself. Max looked at him in surprise. He had certainly never restrained himself in such a way before. "Pardon me. I forgot you don't like to be touched."

Realization washed over her. "I don't like people touching me when I'm throwing up," she explained. "But I was just - I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's alright. You were in a poor frame of mind," Mr. Jefferson replied. "I certainly don't judge you for it, although I was sorry you did not return to class."

Max averted her eyes. "I didn't return to school for today."

"I know," Mr. Jefferson said, his expression melting into a sad one. Then he straightened out. "Well, I've been cooped up here long enough, I believe. Come on, Max. Let's take a drive."

Shocked, Max inquired, "A drive? Where?"

"Anywhere we want. The night's still young," Mr. Jefferson said as he started off towards the staff parking lot. Max trailed after him instinctively. "It's good to get away from here and take your mind off things. Get some perspective, if you will."

"Couldn't you get in trouble for this?" Max pressed, her nervousness coloring her voice. She wanted nothing more than to go with him, but she also respected him far too much to risk his position as her teacher.

Mr. Jefferson looked back at her and gave her a wink. "Only if we get caught," he whispered before unlocking his car, a nice silver sedan with a sleek sports car-looking front. It looked like it had some power to it, too. He opened his car door. "It's your choice. Get in or step back."

Hesitating, Max worried her lower lip. Her instincts were to go back to her room and pretend nothing happened. After all, that's what a good student would do. But Mr Jefferson's wink had caught her off guard. He clearly accepted the consequences if they were caught, which meant that he must have a plan to ensure they weren't. Besides, she felt safe with him. Almost stupidly so. Without a second thought, she clambered in and buckled up.

"Good choice, Max," Mr. Jefferson said before pulling out of his parking spot. He peeled out of the parking lot and turned away from Arcadia Bay. "Let's go somewhere where we can enjoy the beauty of night."

Max reclined in the plush seat, admiring the inside of his car. It was certainly comfortable. More so than any other car she had been in before. She relaxed and stared out the window as the lights of Blackwell dropped behind a canopy of trees. Max tried to recall the last time she left campus, but her mind drew a blank. After all, with Joyce and Chloe possibly in town, Max had stayed away. She hadn't even gone to her favorite spot at the lighthouse. Perhaps Mr. Jefferson was right. Maybe she had become so absorbed in Blackwell that she had forgotten anything else. At least in Seattle, she went places with friends. Here, there were not as many friends and fewer places.

"We never got to talk about what happened," Mr. Jefferson suddenly noted, pulling Max from her reverie. "About the accident. Not really."

Max let out a strained laugh. "You're about the only person left who can say that."

"I've been in a similar situation all week. Everyone coming up to me, hailing me as a hero," Mr. Jefferson murmured.

"You _are_ a hero." Max had whispered the words, scared of what saying them aloud would do. But she said them with every conviction in her heart. "You were really courageous."

Mr. Jefferson froze, stopped at a stop sign. Instead of taking his turn, he looked over at Max. "I certainly didn't feel like I was being a hero," he informed her, his voice taking on a deep and serious tone. Shivers ran down Max's spine. "You know what I felt? Fear. Overwhelming and uncontrollable fear. In my mind's eye, I could see you hit. Your blood splattering the pavement. Your body limp. Your eyes lifeless. And all I could think was that I could not allow that to happen. I could not allow you to die. I ran out of fear, Max, not courage."

Max stared at him for a minute in reply, allowing everything to nest in her mind. Her thoughts flittered about like birds, one always passing too quickly for her to grasp. When Mr. Jefferson started driving again, it brought her out of her stupor. She looked back out of her window. "Nelson Mandela once said that courage was not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. That a man was not brave because he felt no fear but because he acted despite of it."

The silence that followed was palpable. Max allowed it to settle between the two of them. All this time, she hadn't realized just how affected Mr. Jefferson might be from the experience.

"Wise words from a wise man," Mr. Jefferson noted before chuckling. "Ironic that you are teaching me. The student surpassing the teacher."

Max flushed. "Don't joke. You're still way out of my league." Mr. Jefferson glanced at her with one eyebrow raised. She became flustered. "N-not like _that_ , Mr. Jefferson!"

"I know, Max," Mr. Jefferson said, humor coloring his tone. "You're one of my most serious students. I don't doubt your integrity. But I just couldn't help but give you a hard time."

 _He doesn't know._

The epiphany engulfed her like a tidal wave. Despite how awkward she always seemed to be, Mr. Jefferson was oblivious to her feelings. She didn't know whether to be reassured or devastated. At least she wouldn't be like Victoria or Stella. But if he didn't know she was interested, did that mean he would never see her in that light? Then again, he wasn't supposed to see _any_ student in that light. Max wasn't special, she reminded herself. Wanting it to be did not make it so.

"-ax? Max?" Mr. Jefferson called out, his voice cutting through her reverie.

"I'm just tired," Max blurted out guiltily, trying to cover for her own thoughts.

Mr. Jefferson stared at her a moment before saying, "Would you like to go back?"

"No," Max confessed. She then realized they had stopped. "Are we here?"

"We are," Mr. Jefferson responded. He opened his door, causing the car light to come on. Max was temporarily blinded, squinting as her eyes adjusted. "Come on then."

Getting out, Max let the door drop shut, only it didn't properly close. She gripped the handle and tensed. She hated closing someone else's car door because she never wanted to look like she was slamming it shut. Shutting it harder, she turned to find Mr. Jefferson was already walking away. Max trailed behind him. They reached the edge of a cliff, and Max stepped around and gasped. Arcadia Bay was far beneath them now, twinkling like the constellations in the sky. Its glow illuminated just the small packet on the coastline.

"Whoa," she breathed out. She stepped closer only for Mr. Jefferson to place a hand out to stop her. Coming to, she looked at him with wide, startled eyes.

"Careful," he cautioned before looking down.

Max followed his gaze and found herself at the edge of a cliff. Heart hammering, she stumbled backwards. "O-oh!"

Laughing, Mr. Jefferson sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. "I found this place about two weeks ago," he explained, "when I started my newest exercise of landscape photography."

"It's lovely," Max offered, edging forward a bit before sitting down with her legs crossed. She admired how the peaks of the trees almost created a small mountain range before them. The darkness contrasted blackness, the trees only illuminated by Arcadia Bay. The lighthouse in the distance flashed its light at a pace that reminded her of a heartbeat "It reminds me of the view from the lighthouse."

"The lighthouse?" Mr. Jefferson echoed.

Nodding, Max murmured, "That's where I used to go when I wanted to be alone. No one ever goes up there. Like it's been around so long that it's like one of the pine trees around here - practically forgotten."

"You know, every lighthouse has its own beacon signal," Mr. Jefferson stated, staring out at it. "Its own speed, own flashes should it have any. The structure itself has its own colors. They did everything they could to make lighthouses identifiable in the night so that sailors could figure out where they were on the ocean."

Max stared at the lighthouse as she listened. "No. I never knew that," she admitted. She stared out at the beautiful nighttime scene. From such a height, though, Blackwell Academy appeared small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. "Part of me wishes I had my camera, but it never does do well at nighttime."

Mr. Jefferson raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to take a photo?"

"It would be nice," Max wistfully sighed.

Getting up, Mr. Jefferson brushed himself off. "I'll grab my camera."

"Are you cereal?" Max blurted out.

"Cereal?" Mr. Jefferson echoed with a laugh. It wasn't meant viciously, she could tell. If anything, he was amused by her vocabulary. He ruffled her hair before sauntering off, his hands in his pockets.

 _Thank fuck it's dark out._

Max's face was on fire. The ghost of his hand remained in her hair, and she straightened it out in an attempt to erase the memory. Suddenly, a camera appeared before her. She recognized it as his. Gingerly, she took it. It was definitely more modern than her camera. Turning it on, she watched the screen flash on. It was bright, and she recognized most of the icons, although she hadn't used a camera like this in quite some time. Fumbling with it, she tried to get the settings to pop up. Her brow knitted with concentration.

"Let me help, Max," Mr. Jefferson murmured, his large hands enveloping her own. With gentle, measured movements, he showed to her how to bring up the settings. Max changed the settings with Mr. Jefferson merely checking that she had done so correctly. Then he pulled back.

Max raised the viewfinder to her eye, shutting the other one to ensure that she could only view how her photograph would be. Zooming in a touch, Max lined Arcadia Bay closer to the top of the photo, which would allow the trees to play a role in the foreground. She snapped a few shots before pulling back and checking them on the screen. It had captured the night perfectly.

"Look," she said excitedly, turning the screen towards Mr. Jefferson.

Taking his camera back, Mr. Jefferson examined it. "That's a wonderful photo. I particularly appreciate how you managed to incorporate the natural landscape. Arcadia Bay almost looks as though it's in the jaws of nature itself," he murmured. "I will make sure to email you a copy so you can have it."

"Thanks, Mr. Jefferson," Max murmured before looking back out. "Blackwell looks so small from here."

Humming in agreement, Mr. Jefferson noted, "Many things in life seem bigger than they are, Max. It's only when you're on top that you realize as much."

 _I wonder if I'll ever be on top, though._

Sighing, Max leaned back. "I-I've been thinking about how exactly to thank you," she confessed.

"You already did," Mr. Jefferson noted, tilting his head in confusion.

Max shook her head. "That doesn't... That's not good enough, I feel. I mean, you saved my life... and-"

"Max," Mr. Jefferson cut in. "You don't have to do anything. I didn't save your life so that you would owe me. I am not expecting a gift or anything in reply."

Grimacing, Max wished she could explain herself more clearly. "I know that, but I still feel-"

"Consider this my reward then," Mr. Jefferson stated. "I am quite enjoying myself, and it has been some time since I can last say I have done that."

Max hesitated before nodding. If Mr. Jefferson said that this was enough, and if she could help him have a bit of fun, who was she to say otherwise? Looking back out, Max let the conversation go. "I can see why some photographers are obsessed with nighttime. There's something almost magical about it," she murmured.

Mr. Jefferson hummed a moment. "I think it's also to do with the mystery."

"What do you mean?"

Hesitating a moment, Mr. Jefferson pressed his lips into a fine line. "I mean that, in the right lighting, anything can be revealed. It's why people find such comfort in well-lit locations. They believe themselves to be safe. They think that, if they can see the danger, they can stop it. But in the darkness, well, everything changes. Anything can be hidden in the dark, from secrets to someone's true personality. And since lighting is required for viewable photographs, that's why some photographers find it fascinating."

The wind picked up, causing Max to close her jacket a bit more. Beneath them, the trees swayed. A symphony of leaves rustled, some even blowing past them on their descent. Breathing in deep, Max closed her eyes a moment and just took in the fresh, crisp air. Mr. Jefferson's point made sense. Although darkness was equated with evil, Max herself had never seen it that way. After all, the room to develop photography was called a "Dark Room." Darkness was as essential as light.

"Victoria wasn't wrong, you know," she finally admitted, still not opening her eyes. When Mr. Jefferson didn't speak, she continued, "She captured you as an 'everyday hero.' As much as the picture took me off guard, I have no doubt she's going to win the contest with it."

Mr. Jefferson murmured, "She won't. I rejected her submission."

Eyes snapping open, Max jerked her head to look at him. "What? Why?"

"Officially, I told her that I could accept a photograph of myself for the competition because - even if she rightfully won - no one would take her submission seriously. They would believe that I was flattered enough to select hers in order to stroke my own ego. I told her that she deserved better than that for a debut," Mr. Jefferson explained, holding Max with his gaze.

"And unofficially?"

Mr. Jefferson averted his eyes. "Unofficially, I didn't feel comfortable with the submission. If I didn't know better, I would almost say Victoria did it with equal parts of flattery and vengeance on her mind."

"Victoria and I have never gotten along, but I think that might be a bit too cold-blooded even for her," Max offered. Although she might not like Victoria, Max always tried to speak to the better part of people. Much to Chloe's infuriation, to a point.

 _You really should call her tomorrow._

"I certainly hope you're right, Max," Mr. Jefferson sighed out, turning his gaze back to Arcadia Bay.

They sat in silence a while. Unlike normal, Max felt comfortable. There was no pressure for them to putz about awkward small talk or for them to have a deep, philosophical discussion. Instead, it felt as though they were simply together. It was relaxing. The night passed by quietly, nothing there to remind them that time even existed. Slowly, Max's eyes became heavier. She started to lean without realizing, only stopping when she toppled into Mr. Jefferson. Immediately, she could smell his cologne. He went tense underneath her.

"Sorry," Max slurred out. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Why not?" Mr. Jefferson whispered. She felt him start to relax.

Max huffed. "I'm a light sleeper. Girls like to talk. And nightmares. Haven't slept in _ages_."

"Let's get you back then," Mr. Jefferson replied, helping her sit back up. Max grumbled under her breath as she felt him grip under her arms. With one fluid movement, he pulled her up to her feet.

Max stumbled, leaning into him for a moment. Sleep was now beckoning her to join in its embrace. "Mmkay," she said as she righted herself. After a few more staggering steps, Max found her way back into Mr. Jefferson's side. "Sorry."

"It's quite fine. Come on. Use me to steady yourself," Mr. Jefferson offered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to keep her there.

Max did not object as they approached the car. Had she been more awake, she might have felt quite giddy over the affection. As it was, she was a walking zombie. The soothing atmosphere had really done her in. Mr. Jefferson opened her car door, and Max all but flopped into it. Once both her feet had managed to wiggle their way in, she blindly put her seatbelt on. Her eyes were still too heavy to open. The other car door closed, and she heard the soft rumble of the engine coming to life. Mr. Jefferson turned on some jazz. Max was too tired to comprehend any of the words. Leaning her head against the window, she finally sank into the enticing darkness.


	8. Datsuzoku

An alarm was beeping. Max groaned as she instinctively reached for where she put her phone. Finding a smooth table top, Max finally cracked open an eye. Her bag was beeping. She tossed back her blanket before clambering out of bed. Stretching, she felt her back crack wonderfully. Then she strode across the room. Her bag was sitting on her sofa, where she had left it yesterday. She fished out her phone and turned off the alarm. 7:00AM.

 _That was the best sleep I've had in, like, eons._

Max rubbed her eyes, her hand coming back with makeup on it. For a moment, she was confused. Max never went to sleep with makeup still on. Why had she last night? She thought back and remembered meeting Mr. Jefferson. They had gone up to a cliff for a while, and then… she had fallen asleep in the car.

 _Then how did I get in bed?_

The most obvious answer was that Mr. Jefferson brought her back. But he would have had to carry her from the parking lot, into the dorm, into her room, and tucked her into bed. But wouldn't that have been too dangerous? But then again, Mr. Jefferson had said that they wouldn't be caught. And he had said it with such confidence.

 _It sounded like he had done it before._

Her blood iced. Immediately, she pushed that thought away. Mr. Jefferson wasn't like that. Grabbing her shower caddy and towel, she headed down the hall. A nice shower would help her clear her head. Stepping out of her room, she looked to see Kate emerging from her room as well. Max smiled, offering a silent wave. The walls were too thin for them to start conversing without others possibly overhearing. Waving back, Kate fell in step with Max as they walked to the bathroom. Max walked in first, heading to her preferred shower as Kate stationed herself at the closest sink.

As Max turned on the shower, Kate asked, "Hey, Max? I found this little tea shop in Arcadia Bay. I was wondering if maybe you would like to go there after school?" She didn't look at Max after asking.

The invitation seemed so sudden that it was actually startling. Balking, Max remembered herself. She smiled sweetly. It was so nice for Kate to think of her. And on a day like today, she could really use the distraction. "Yeah, Kate, that sounds like fun. And I love tea "

"I have some classroom assistant duties today, but I should be done by 4:30 latest. Let's meet by the fountain. We can take the bus into town," Kate replied, visibly perking up.

"I'll see you there!"

With that, Max jumped into the shower. Kate was so sweet to think of her. It gave her something to look forward to today. Something to take her mind off the adventures last night. Adventures that resurfaced in her mind the moment her thoughts whispered over them. She could remember the way that Mr. Jefferson's face was cast in shadows. How low and calm his voice was. How his hands felt in her hair… on her own hands. For the first time, she was grateful that it was Friday. It was the only day of the week where she didn't have Mr. Jefferson's class. She felt that she would be too awkward around him otherwise. And she would have too many questions as well. Questions that she couldn't ask, not in a school setting. After all, she didn't want to get Mr. Jefferson in trouble. And it was clear he wouldn't have tried anything with her.

 _You really need to stop thinking._

Max found that that was easier to think than do. All day, her mind drifted back to Mr. Jefferson. It was worse than ever before. Not an hour passed without her thinking about him in some way, shape, or form. Classes were almost impossible for her to focus upon. Luckily, most of her teachers either didn't notice or didn't call her out on it. She purposefully avoided his classroom, not wanting to even see him. She didn't need to add any fuel to the fire.

The day finally came to a close, and Max sat down on the fountain. She supposed she could go back to her room for the time being, but she didn't feel like it. Being inside would simply allow her to think _more_ , which is the opposite of what she wanted. Then she saw the last person she wanted to meet. Mr. Jefferson emerged from the school with Kate next to him. Flustered, Max searched for something - _anything_ \- else to do. Her camera became incredibly interesting at that moment, and she fumbled about with it to keep her eyes low. However, she could still see them approaching her in her peripheral. Quietly, she begged for them to stop or turn or not notice he there. But all of these prayers were ignored.

"Hey, Max!" Kate called out.

Sheepishly, Max looked up. "Hey, Kate. I thought you were going to be busy."

"Mr. Jefferson gave me today off when he found out we were going to have tea together," Kate responded.

Mr. Jefferson offered his usual dashing smile. "There was nothing that couldn't wait until Monday in any case. Besides, the weekends are meant to be enjoyed."

"We should get going then," Max said, standing up. Her mind churned with all of the questions she wanted to ask. Her curiosity wouldn't stagnate. But Kate was right there, and Max needed to act _natural_.

Nodding, Kate said, "Yeah, we should. Thanks, Mr. Jefferson."

"You girls have fun. But don't forget to get some sleep," Mr. Jefferson stated, looking purposefully at Max for the last sentence.

"Bye, Mr. Jefferson," Max managed meekly. She then started towards the bus stop with Kate following close behind. After a moment, she realized that her actions might have been a bit strange. She searched for a topic to distract Kate. "It was nice of him to let you go early like that."

"Yeah." Kate smiled, although it was bittersweet in nature.

Concerned, Max pressed, "Is everything alright?"

Kate glanced around, causing Max to do the same. Only the skaters were close enough to overhear anything, and they were too engaged with their skateboards to care. "Honestly, I think he did it more for you than he did for me. I think he's trying to make up for the incident yesterday."

"Incident yesterday?" Max echoed, slightly panicked. What exactly had Mr. Jefferson told Kate?

Kate nodded. "Yeah. I think he felt guilty for what happened with Victoria yesterday."

Max shrugged in an effort to seem nonchalant. "I see," was all she managed to say.

 _Smooth, Max Bond._

"You should have seen Victoria's face when he refused her entry, though," Kate continued, her voice just as quiet as before.

Interest now piqued, Max belatedly recalled that she wasn't supposed to know as much. She innocently queried, "He refused her entry?"

"Yeah. He told her that if that entry won, it would basically invalidate her winning at all because she used the judge as her everyday hero," Kate explained. Her eyes flickered, and Max turned to find the bus was just a block away from them now. "I'll tell you more in a minute."

The bus stopped for them, and Max filed on with Kate. The buses in Arcadia Bay were never packed, but they ran consistently thanks to the support of the town and academy. There were two passengers already on this bus. One was a little old black lady, knitting in her lap and yarn pooling at her side. A younger woman with fiery red hair dressed in business casual attire sat not too far away from her. Immediately, Max walked to the back of the bus, making sure to shy away from the other passengers.

Once Kate sat down next to her, Max pressed, "So then what?"

"Victoria was furious but pretended to be understanding in front of Mr. Jefferson. But she basically told anyone who would listen that she was sure your 'melodramatic' reaction to her photo was what disqualified it," Kate said. Max frowned. "Her words, Max. Not mine. It is not my place to judge you or your reactions to the accident."

Max quickly clarified, "I'm not upset with you. Yesterday just… wasn't a good day for me."

"Or for Mr. Jefferson," Kate added softly, almost as if she was speaking to herself.

"What do you mean?" Max asked. Kate shuffled a bit uncomfortably, and Max averted her eyes, hoping it would make Kate feel a bit calmer. "Kate, you know me. I won't tell anybody."

"Mr. Jefferson acted pretty weird after you left," Kate finally said. Her voice was hesitant, as if her words were glass that would break if used too roughly. "It was like he couldn't concentrate on the class. He kept looking at the door... like he was waiting for you to come back."

Max felt a sting of guilt. Of course, Mr. Jefferson couldn't have known that she went straight back to her room. He wasn't aware that she wasn't coming back. He had been _waiting_ for her. And it sounded like the class somewhat suffered for it.

 _I wonder if that's why he was working so late, too._

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Max. Mr. Jefferson's just a really caring guy. I'm sure seeing you were alright today was enough," Kate comforted, clearly misunderstanding Max's silence. She then straightened up. "We're the next stop."

"Ever been to this place before?" Max inquired. She wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible before Kate started to catch onto her feelings.

Shaking her head, Kate replied, "I wanted to go with someone. You were the first person who came to mind."

"I'm so glad you thought of me. I love tea," Max confessed as the bus stopped. There had been plenty of tea shops in Seattle, and Max had become a regular at quite a few of them with her friends. One place was her favorite, though, a little tea shop that imported from London, England. Max loved the kitsch atmosphere.

Rising, Kate and Max meandered their way off the bus. The tea shop Kate had found was new by Arcadia Bay standards. It was a small, wooden building that only had one room to it. Max and Kate wandered in. Immediately, Max was in love. The shop itself was decorated with a Boston Tea Party theme, nautical items and ships adorning the walls. Immediately, she was overwhelmed by the calming smells that only a tea shop could contain. It was wonderful, though, to be engulfed in the aroma.

"What do you want?" Kate inquired, motioning towards the chalk boards that listed out the teas available. "It's on me."

"You don't have to-" Max started to object.

"I want to, Max," Kate stated with a startling certainty.

Max glanced through the teas before settling on a familiar one. "Then I will take a cup of the Fifth of November," she answered. "I'll snag us a table."

"Sounds good!"

With that, Max looked over to find most of the tables were in direct line of sight of the front windows. There was one, though, tucked away where Max and Kate could sit in peace. Max pretended that she wasn't worried about Chloe seeing her. However, Max knew she was lying to herself. Chloe was a constant nagging thought at the back of her mind.

 _I will call her tomorrow._

Suddenly, Kate set down a tray. Two cups, some cream, and sugar sat upon it. Kate set Max's cup in front of her before taking up the seat across from her. "I have a question." Her eyes were averted, focused on the teacup.

"What is it?"

"I want to start an abstinence campaign at Blackwell. I have a couple of study groups who are supportive of it, but I wanted your thoughts," Kate replied. She then looked up at Max, her eyes eager. This was clearly something she was passionate about. That wasn't surprising, though, given her religious nature.

"Uh…" Max stalled as she tried to figure out how to formulate her response. She had never done well when addressing a direct conflict of ideas, always trying to be respectful. "Are you sure I'm the best person to ask this?"

Kate fidgeted nervously. "I want an opinion from someone who is on the outside, so to speak. And you're the only one I can ask."

 _It's a trap!_

Now wasn't the time for _Star Wars_ quotes. Kate was asking because she cared. But Max didn't want her first evening out with a friend to end poorly. "I won't lie, Kate. I don't think the campaign is going to go very far. Blackwell is, well, Blackwell. Vortex Parties are the epitome of that attitude."

"Yeah. I just feel like even if it just affects one person, it would be worth it," Kate pointed out.

Max said, "If you feel that strongly about it, you should do it. Just don't be discouraged if it doesn't go as well as you hope."

"I won't, Max. Thanks."

After that, the conversation eased. Max got to know Kate better for the first time. She found out that Kate was very close to her family, in particular her sisters and father. Her father was a preacher, and Kate knew a remarkable amount of Bible verses. More than Max ever thought possible for one person to remember. But that also meant there was a lot of pressure on Kate to live up to every single Christian ideal. Max wondered if Kate ever got to be a teenager or if she was forced into the role of young adult since she turned 13. Honestly, Max felt bad for her. She couldn't imagine living with that kind of pressure. She was already hesitant enough without it.

Kate also had a precious black and white bunny named Alice. She had brought Alice with to Blackwell Academy, not having the heart to leave her at home. Alice also helped calm Kate down with the move. That much, Max could understand. Going from living at home to living in a dorm miles away from her family was a strange and sometimes difficult transition. She tried not to focus on it, but Kate had found a good way to cope. However, Max was most interested in the fact that Kate was passionate about writing children's stories. She pursued photography mainly because she thought that it would help her when visualizing her books. Mr. Jefferson had also been quite a push for her to apply. She hadn't expected to get in, and the acceptance had been a wonderful surprise for her and her family. Before long, Max ensured a promise from Kate to see some of her drafts and sketches sometime.

They rode back on the bus together, small talk filling in the spaces that conversation otherwise couldn't. When they made it back to campus, it was getting dark out. Kate already had plans with some friends, and she invited Max to join. Max declined. Her time with Kate had been fun, but she wasn't exactly a social butterfly. She was planning on heading back to her room and do homework. Max slipped into her dimly lit room and grabbed her laptop from the desk. No sitting for her tonight - she had had enough of that with Kate. Instead, she was going to relax in bed. She flopped down, gently placing her laptop onto her pillow. She noticed her email icon was lit up. Curious, she clicked it.

An email from Mr. Jefferson. She opened it and found an image attached to it along with the message: "As promised. Let me know if you would like me to print it as well. -Mark" Eager, Max quickly downloaded the attachment and opened it. The picture had a higher resolution than her camera could have ever taken. It was also just as beautiful as the actual sight of it.

 _I could see this in a magazine._

It was hard for her to believe that she took that photo. Then she reminded herself that it was Mr. Jefferson who found the spot. He probably already had a photo even better than what she took. Frowning, she looked at it again. Mr. Jefferson had complimented her view - the way she used nature as a part of the picture. It wasn't as easy to see the different layers of trees in the photo to be certain, but he wouldn't have complimented her for nothing. Right?

Max hit the reply button. Thumbing over the keys, she debated her response. Finally, she landed on: "Thank you so much. I would appreciate it if you could print it for me. My printer wouldn't handle the contrast well. Have a good weekend. -Max"

She hit send. Pulling open her web browser, she was about to check her social media when the icon popped back up. Surprised, she clicked it. It seemed Mr. Jefferson had already replied. "Will do. See you Monday. -Mark"

 _I must have caught him working._

Max thought this, but she felt a flicker of uncertainty. She wasn't imagining these things. Mr. Jefferson noticed her. He saw her like no one had ever seen her before. Heart fluttering, she thought about that a bit more. Although he might not look it, Mr. Jefferson was 20 years her senior. That alone, Max knew was a huge obstacle between the two of them. Societal norms would not allow them to be without conflict. What's more, he was famous, professional, and mature. He could have any woman in the world.

Although it didn't seem right, Max knew she was infatuated. If given the chance, she would risk it. Obviously, he would have to agree. Max wasn't so selfish to ruin his reputation and career. But she had never felt the same way she did whenever around him. Sometimes, it was awkward and awful. Other times - more often recently - it was calming and safe.

Perhaps she was just misconstruing things. As Kate noted, Mr. Jefferson was a caring person. He took a special interest in all his students. Victoria could probably say a lot of the same things Max could about Mr. Jefferson's attentions. Not only that, but she was pretty, refined, and well-educated for a student. She was also far more aggressive about her interests and still rejected. If Mr. Jefferson wasn't even tempted by her, no way he would be by Max.

Max grabbed her homework, needing the distraction once more. Mr. Jefferson could wait.


	9. Hiraeth

Max walked into her first class on Monday with her earbuds in. If nothing else, she was better rested than last week, having slept almost the entire day Sunday. Her nightmares had lessened since her trip with Mr. Jefferson to the cliff. She still woke covered in sweat and gasping, but it was a quieted panic now. One that she recovered from faster than before. She wasn't completely recovered by any means, but it was a noticeable difference. It gave her hope.

Approaching her desk, she noticed paper was on top of it. It was the Arcadia Bay Beacon. Blanching, Max looked around. Everyone in the classroom was silent, all watching her. Her stomach flipped. They were all waiting for her reaction. With deliberate steps, Max approached her table. She could see a large color photo on the front. It was a photo she had seen before. Pressing her lips together, she turned the newspaper around. Sure enough, Victoria's original "everyday heroes" picture took up half of the front page. Max sucked in a deep breath before looking at the article.

 _One Dead in Drunk Driving Accident_

 _Arcadia Bay is known for its sleepy town atmosphere. With crime at an all-time low, most residents feel safe. That was all broken these last few weeks due to one Roger Buckham. Buckham, 49, had been a long-time resident of Arcadia Bay and a known regular to the area's bar scene. He gained recent notoriety when he nearly hit a Blackwell student, Max Caulfield. Luckily, her teacher, photographer Mark Jefferson, saved her from being struck. We are still investigating that story and hope to have more for you at a later date._

 _Unfortunately, this luck streak did not extend to Buckham. Buckham was involved in another incident this weekend, this one taking his life. According to police reports, Buckham was seen leaving one of the local watering holes around 2AM Saturday morning with an acquaintance. He got into his car, alone, and drove off. Six hours later, his car was found having struck a tree with Buckham inside. His blood alcohol level was reported as three times the legal limit._

 _Funeral services will be held this Thursday at noon._

 _*Picture provided by Blackwell Academy._

Max reread the final line. Despair and anger twined together, each vying for the top spot. All Max had wanted was to place this behind her. Now, it was going to be rehashed. What was worse was that her name was now attached as well for everyone to see. Gripping the newspaper, Max rose to her feet. She didn't even look at Victoria despite the fact that the girl was watching like a hawk. Instead, she strode out of the room and stalked down the stairs.

Frustration was starting to win out. Bursting into Mr. Jefferson's room, Max caused a far larger stir than she intended. Upon seeing Mr. Jefferson look up in alarm, Max felt her throat tighten. Her emotions were starting to bubble up despite herself. "Max, what're you-"

Max thrust the newspaper into his hands. Words weren't able to convey her emotions right now. Throat tight, Max watched for his reaction. Mr. Jefferson's eyes narrowed as they scanned the picture and the article. After they scanned the last line, Mr. Jefferson set his jaw.

"My office. Now," he stated, pushing her towards the door. Max staggered a few steps before catching herself. She hadn't expected the force behind his push, and she had forgotten just how strong he was. Walking out, she heard Mr. Jefferson continue, "I will be back. Use your smart phones wisely until then."

He closed his door after stepping outside. Without a word, he led her towards his office. Max had never been inside Mr. Jefferson's office before, as he usually wouldn't be found there. When she entered, she couldn't help but notice that it was larger than Principal Wells'. She glanced around. The walls were covered with either art or shelves of art books. Mr. Jefferson had a quotes calendar situated on his desk, facing outwards instead of in. Today's quote: "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." - Dr. Seuss

"Did the newspaper call you at all before this was printed?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, shutting his door. She could see by his posture that he was tense. Honestly, he seemed just about as frustrated as she felt.

"No. I found out this morning when that was left on my desk," she explained, her own voice softening. Her emotions were starting to fatigue.

Mr. Jefferson scowled. "Left on your desk? By whom?"

"I don't know. It was there when I walked in this morning," Max answered. Sitting down into a guest chair, she sank into it. It was also nicer than the ones in Principal Well's office. "I have my suspicions, though."

"Without evidence, suspicion means nothing," Mr. Jefferson remarked. He paced back and forth, his hands clenching. "If anyone from the newspaper contacts you, do not answer. Do not call them back. Silence cannot be quoted."

Max nodded as she watched Mr. Jefferson's movements. They seemed almost unnatural. But then again, she had never seen him this wound up before. "Do you think they'll reach out?"

"No doubt someone will reach out to you before long. Arcadia Bay is too quiet of a town for them not to. It would be quite the story. A teacher rescuing a student from almost certain death? It has everything a journalist could possibly ask for - a sympathetic victim, bravery, teacher-student dynamic, a positive ending. Made even more powerful with photographic evidence of the moment in question," Mr. Jefferson scoffed, his brow knitting.

Max watched how sharply he turned on his heels. He reminded her of a tiger stalking through the jungle. His eyes flickered back and forth, never lingering in one spot too long. Never looking at Max herself. Gently, she asked, "Do you think it was Victoria? As revenge for not accepting her photo into the contest?"

"Which I did as a favor to her. No, Miss Chase must have played a role, but I do not believe she was the mastermind," Mr. Jefferson responded. His voice was getting a bit louder now - a bit more heated by whatever thoughts were brewing in his mind. "No, there is only one person who gains by this becoming public news."

 _Principal Wells._

Letting out a sharp breath, Max felt the information sink into her mind. "How did he find out about the picture?"

"I'm afraid that was my fault," Mr. Jefferson confessed. He squeezed the bridge of his nose in exasperation, finally stopping. "There was recently a meeting about adding speed bumps to the road in front of the school. I used Miss Chase's photograph to drive the point home."

Staring at him, Max realized why he hadn't been able to look at her this whole time. He had unintentionally given the principal the final piece needed to go public. "I don't blame you, Mr. Jefferson," Max said, feeling an instinctual need to settle any doubts he might have. "It's not as though you yourself gave the picture to the Beacon."

"Still, I should have known better when Principal Wells asked where I got the photo from," Mr. Jefferson snarled. His anger wasn't directed at Max, but she still shuddered. Mr. Jefferson could certainly be very intimidating when he wanted to be. "He must have approached Victoria after the meeting. And unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about it being published. They received permission from Victoria Chase, who took it, and the principal of Blackwell, where it was taken."

Max sank into her chair upon hearing that. "So there's nothing we can do?" she whispered, hating this feeling of helplessness. All she had ever wanted was to leave this all behind her. And now it was out there for everyone to see.

"There is. I know they didn't get permission to print my name. If they didn't get permission to print yours either, we have a case," Mr. Jefferson said. He glanced at the clock in his room. "I'll contact my lawyer this evening to speak to him about it. I'm sure he will have more answers than I do. In the meantime, Max, keep what I said in mind. Don't give them any more fuel than what they have."

Pausing a moment, Max inquired, "Are you going to sue them?"

"Yes," Mr. Jefferson replied without hesitation. He looked directly at her, and she could see the anger burning."And he'll represent your interests as well."

That made Max's head spin a moment. "I'm not sure I can afford-"

"Don't be stupid, Max. On my dime," Mr. Jefferson cut in. Max was startled by his response. Noticing her expression, Mr. Jefferson knelt down to meet her eye-to-eye. His entire figure seemed to soften. To open. "Pardon my language. I'm just frustrated."

"Because they used your name to get more publicity?" Max breathed out. Her heart jumped about, fearful of his response.

Mr. Jefferson gauged her a moment, his eyes seeming to trace every feature of her face. "That is one of my reasons."

Max tried to quell her hope upon hearing that. Swallowing hard, she noticed his hands on the armrests of the chairs. Her own hands were on her bag. But he was so close to her that she could smell his cologne again. The cologne that had signaled her safety on the day of the incident. His eyes bore into her, a gentle affection remaining there. It was unmistakable. Perhaps she wasn't wrong? Maybe her suspicions had an inkling of truth to them?

 _There's only one way to know._

"And what's the other, Mr. Jefferson?" Max pushed. She felt bolder now, in the shelter of his office but security of the school. He was in front of her, not as her superior. And she ached to know the truth.

"Personal," Mr. Jefferson said, his voice containing a terse finality to it.

Max felt the wound cut deep into her heart at the implication of his words: "None of your business." Of course, she should never have let her heart swallow her logic. Her eyes burned, watering despite her willing them not to. No matter what, she wasn't _that_ special. Without a word, she rose to her feet, causing Mr. Jefferson to look up in surprise.

"Thank you for your time," she murmured politely before walking towards the door. "Please let me know what is going to happen when you know."

"Max!" Mr. Jefferson called out in distress.

A tear silently rolled down Max's cheek as she turned the corner from his office. She refused to look behind her. Just as she reached the stairs, she felt someone grab her arm. The pull sparked a memory, which ignited when her face found his chest yet again. Then the hand settled in her hair. Jaw tense, Max willed herself to stop crying and her heart to _settle down_.

"Let me go," she weakly objected, trying to pull back. Her hands pressed firmly into his chest.

Mr. Jefferson's arms flexed as he kept her there. "Max, what do you _want_ from me?" he hissed into her ear.

"Nothing," Max answered, keeping her head down.

"You're a better photographer than liar," Mr. Jefferson said. His chest reverberated with every word. "Tell me and I'll let you go."

"I-I just - I just wanted-"

A door opened. Immediately, Mr. Jefferson released Max, stepping back almost too far. Mr. Madsen stepped out of a room and looked over at them quizzically. Max could feel her cheeks starting to turn pink.

 _Saved by the door._

"We'll talk more about this later. I'm sorry that you're dealing with bullying," Mr. Jefferson said, ensuring it was loud enough for Mr. Madsen to hear. "Do not doubt that I will look into it."

"Thank you, Mr. Jefferson," Max managed to croak before scrambling up the stairs. She didn't want to have to deal with Mr. Madsen. After everything that had transpired, she doubted she would be able to convince Mr. Madsen that nothing had happened. Not, at least, without giving away her disappointment in that fact.

Now, she just had to figure out how she was going to deal with being in his class. She knocked on the door to her World History class before stepping in. All eyes fell on her once more. Her teacher didn't even care to interrogate her. The newspaper on the desk told Max why. No doubt, the entire town would be buzzing with the news.

 _You really should call Chloe after school. No doubt she'll hear about this from Joyce._

The morning passed by relatively quickly, probably because Max was throwing herself into everything she possibly could. Her notes today were meticulous… and color-coded. A few doodles dotted the pages, but those were simply distractions during the passing period.

Finally, lunch hit. Max sought out Warren. If anyone could keep her distracted, it was certainly him. She found him at his locker, putting away his books from this morning. "Hey, Warren," Max greeted. "Would you like to eat lunch together?"

"I never thought I would see the day. Max Caulfield asking _me_ to lunch. I'm flattered," Warren jested before slamming his locker shut. "Where would you like to sit today?"

Max answered, "Anywhere that gets me out of here a while."

"Yeah, I feel you there," Warren said. "Mrs. Grant totally reamed me today for not using proper scientific precautions for my experiment. I've never been chewed out so bad by a teacher before."

"She takes her safety really seriously," Max concurred, remembering when Mrs. Grant had been frustrated with another student for not wearing his goggles properly. She talked for almost ten minutes after the period ended. By the time Max got to the cafeteria, it had almost been picked clean.

Heading towards the entrance, Warren replied, "Yeah. I mean, I get that it's important. It's just that I feel like sometimes she's _too_ \- you know?"

"Yeah," Max said, actually understanding what he meant. Mrs. Grant certainly had come off as overbearing. But then again, that was probably because she was usually so mild-mannered. Seeing her come undone was jolting, if nothing else. "I think it just means she cares."

A sharp pain assaulted her shoulder. Max gasped, stumbling backwards. "Watch where you're going," a sneering voice announced. Victoria. She stood in front of Max with her hands on her hips, as if waiting for an apology.

 _She's going to be waiting a long time._

Brushing herself off, Max turned and started towards the cafeteria again. Warren silently followed, keeping one eye behind them as they walked. Obviously, he felt just as comfortable about the situation as she did. No way that they were just going to be able to leave this encounter. Not if she knew Victoria at all.

"Hey!" Victoria yelled. And there it was. Victoria was trailing after them. "Where did you run off to this morning?"

Max knew what Victoria was really asking: "What did you say to Mr. Jefferson?" But she wasn't going to give her the pleasure.

"I went to ask about the article posted in the paper," she vaguely responded. Max gave her a strained smile. She needed to make sure Victoria didn't gain any leverage. "How is it going, by the way? I only worry because you have… two weeks left, I believe?"

"Go fuck your selfie, Max," Victoria snarled. But Max had seen it - a small flash of fear in her eyes. So she hadn't made any progress with Mr. Jefferson then. Victoria then stormed into the school, no doubt on her way to intercept Mr. Jefferson. If he was lucky, he would already be gone.

"What was that about?" Warren inquired, watching Victoria with the same amount of apprehension one would a tornado.

Max had almost forgotten Warren was there. "I don't know. I was just trying to be nice."

"I don't know why you waste your kindness on her," Warren said, his usually cheerful voice lowering to a somber tone. "She doesn't deserve it. She's only nasty to everyone she knows."

"She's nice to Nathan Prescott," Max pointed out.

"Probably because his family owns Arcadia Bay," Warren said.

 _Bitterness doesn't suit him._

Max nodded towards the cafeteria. "Come on. Before they run out of food."

"Race ya!" Warren exclaimed before sprinting.

"No fair!" Max shouted, gripping her bag. She chased after him, unable to go her full speed with the luggage that she was carrying. "You got a head start!"

"Sounds like someone's just making excuses for being so slo-" With that, Warren ran right into the cafeteria door. He fell onto his butt in an almost comical way.

If Max hadn't been more concerned for his well-being, she would have laughed. "Whoa, Warren, you alright?" Max asked, stopping in front of him.

Rubbing his head, Warren replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Got a head made of granite. That's what my mom always says."

"Then get up, granite head," Max said before offering him her hand.

Warren grasped it but didn't use her as leverage, instead rising to his feet on his own. As soon as he stood, she let go. Warren, however, didn't. "Max," he said, his voice turning tender.

Max knew that tone of voice. She had heard a couple of people have it before. Usually, it was the voice she heard before a terrible first date ruined the friendship. Forcefully, Max pulled her hand from his grip. "I need something to nosh on," she said before pushing open the door. "Try to keep up, slowpoke!"

"Max!" Warren called out. However, Max ignored him.

 _I'm such a coward._

Max hated that part of her. No matter what, she never wanted to risk anything important to her. And Warren _was_ important to her. He had been the first friend she made at Blackwell - the first person who really made her feel like she belonged. For that, she would always try to be there for him. Just not as his girlfriend. And there was the rub.

 _Why couldn't he just be into Brooke? They would be really cute together._

Max took her time figuring out what she wanted to eat for lunch. Warren left her alone as she did so. By the time they reunited, Max hoped Warren would reconsider telling her. She really didn't want things to become awkward for them. And from her experience, teenagers didn't exactly do well with rejection.

 _Maybe that's how Mr. Jefferson feels about you._

An upsetting thought that Max quickly dismissed. She didn't need to spend any more time today thinking about him. Approaching Warren, she offered him a small smile. Warren's wide grin relieved her. As soon as she walked over, he was back to talking about their newest science experiment. Max listened attentively as Warren got his nerd on. It seemed they would be okay for today. And that's all Max could really ask for.


	10. Qurb

It took less than 24 hours for the phone calls to start. The voicemails left sounded very formal, as though the journalist was reading from a script. Just as Mr. Jefferson advised, Max ignored the calls. But her phone buzzed at any hour of the day. The more she ignored them, the more frequent the calls became. And it appeared the Beacon wasn't the only newspaper interested. A couple of nearby towns had read the story and wanted their own interview.

Since nearly confessing her feelings, Max hadn't a moment alone with Mr. Jefferson. Not that she had sought it out. She figured that if there was something important, he would email her about it. Or pull her aside. Frankly speaking, though, she wasn't ready for the latter. His stony tone was still clear in her mind. She just needed to get over her schoolgirl crush.

"You alright there, Max?"

Blinking a few times, Max turned to see Dana looking at her with some concern. She had spaced out in the middle of the hall, in front of a "Go Otters!" poster. Classes were done for the day, and Max's brain was pretty much fried from everything she was trying to deal with. She must have looked so dazed for someone like Dana to notice her. Dana, although the nicest person in the Vortex Club, had a tendency to seem trapped in her own thoughts.

"Hey, Dana, yeah. I just was looking at this poster," Max explained.

"More like studying it for an upcoming exam," Dana teased her. She looked at the poster as well before tilting her head slightly. "Otters are cute, but the Bigfoots are so much more fun to cheer for. You going to come to the game this weekend?"

"Probably not. I'm not much of a sports fan. And I don't have a lot of school spirit," Max confessed with a frown. She felt like she should be more into it, especially since the Bigfoots were doing particularly well this year.

Dana hummed. "You should reconsider. It might do you some good to feel like a student again." Startled by the statement, Max looked over to find Dana already walking off. She waved. "See you around, Max!"

Max was starting to wonder what "normal students" felt like at Blackwell. What did they worry about if it wasn't reporters? What did they do outside of homework? Was concentrating in classes easier? Were their relationships a hindrance or a blessing? Were they frustrated about not having the spotlight?

 _I would gladly give it to them._

After all, Max never wanted this spotlight. She had tried to avoid it until Principal Wells and Victoria Chase decided to ruin any chance of people forgetting. Why couldn't they have just left well enough alone? Max's phone buzzed. Dread pooling in her belly, she braced herself for yet another call from an unknown number. Instead, though, she found a text from Warren.

 _Yoooooo, there's a drive-in movie theatre opening a town over.  
When I get my car, u wanna go?_

 _*theater  
(accidentally British)_

Max giggled at the texts. At least Warren made her feel like she was just a normal student. He hadn't said a thing about the newspaper article since it was released. Although whether or not that was because he _knew_ about it was a different story. Max knew that "dinner and a movie" was a stereotypical first date, but Warren was so nice to ask her… and he didn't even have his car yet. And if they just went as friends, there would be no harm in it.

 _Sounds like it could be fun. :)_

"Max!"

Startled, Max looked up to find a breathless Kate standing in front of her. The usually pristine girl had disheveled hair and wide eyes. "What's wrong?"

"There's a - reporter outside. She says she - works for the - Beacon," Kate informed her between breaths. Her hands were on her knees as she gulped in air. "She's been - asking around - about you."

Max felt her blood race. It seemed they were no longer content to just wait for a response. And there was no doubt in her mind that Victoria would lead her right to Max's dorm room if given the chance. She couldn't go to Principal Wells. After all, he was the reason the reporter was here. And she didn't feel right asking Mr. Jefferson for help. Not after their last incident. Besides, he had enough to worry about. For a moment, she was at a complete loss. And she felt more alone than ever before.

"You'll have to take the back door," Kate said. Max knew the door she was talking about. It as the same one Mr. Jefferson had used to get away from Victoria. "Brooke's stalling her right now, and Warren's on his way to help. You can hide in my room if you need."

"I don't want to be trapped in your room the rest of the night if she decided to camp the place," Max confessed, worrying her lower lip.

Kate's phone buzzed, and she quickly looked at it. "Oh, hold on, it's Mr. Jefferson. I need to take this."

"He's _calling_ you?" Max asked incredulously. She had no idea Mr. Jefferson was on phoning terms with Kate.

"I'm his class assistant. He usually just texts if he needs something. But I told him about the reporter. Hold on," Kate murmured before answering the call. "Hello? Yes. Yes, I found her. She's right next to me. O-oh. Okay. Hold on." She held out her phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Max hesitated before gingerly picking the phone up. Cradling it to her ear, she said in a quiet voice, "Hello?"

"Max, Kate's told me about the reporter. I'm on my way back to school now. My office is still unlocked, so go in there and lock it, and hang out there until I come. Cool?" Mr. Jefferson ordered. His tone told her that he wasn't to be trifled with right now. She could hear the rev of his engine even through the phone.

Max nodded before realizing he couldn't see her. "Yes. I'll go now."

"Good. And remember, just stay there until I come. She might come by if she thinks I'm there, but she won't be able to get in," Mr. Jefferson reiterated.

"Okay." With that, Max handed Kate back her phone.

Kate pressed it back to her ear. "Mr. Jefferson? It's Kate again."

Max didn't linger. With every step she took, she started moving faster. A sense of urgency was sinking in. She felt vulnerable in the empty hallway. If the reporter walked in, she would be able to spot Max from a mile away. That thought left her stomach in loops. If she was caught, what would she say? Did the stereotypical "no comment" work? But then how would that reporter portray her to their readers? Before Max realized it, she was jogging. Her hand landed on his doorknob, and the door gave way. Closing it, Max locked the door.

 _The last time you were here, it didn't exactly end well._

She looked around Mr. Jefferson's office once more, taking in the huge room without the added pressure of someone bursting in. She examined the rows of photography and art books that adorned his shelves. He had them all carefully alphabetized, which was a feat in and of itself. Slowly, her fingers thumped across each individual spine, rounding their curves with ease.

 _I wonder how long it took him to organize it this way._

Opening the cabinets, Max found red binders with names written on the sides. She grabbed one, out of curiosity, and opened it. Inside were pictures of different scenes, most featuring some type of animal. Max's favorite was the fox with its pups in the woods. When she got to the end, she noticed an essay that explained the idea behind the project. It was the final portfolio for a student who Max had never met, she then realized. Either Mr. Jefferson or the school had kept a copy.

 _There's going to be no more cabinet space next year at the rate they're going._

She filed it back in its spot. Turning, she noticed he had his American Academy of Art diploma hanging on the wall. It was adorned with beautiful calligraphy and the university's seal at the bottom. Next year, Max would be off to earn her own diploma. She had yet to apply to any universities, though. She worried herself over the rejections bound to come back her way.

 _I need to build a proper portfolio. Not just send them a bunch of selfies._

Max turned to face his desk. Noticing the calendar, she turned it around. Today's quote was: "When we seek to discover the best in others, we somehow bring out the best in ourselves. - William Arthur Ward" She smiled at the quote before placing the calendar back down, facing out as it had been. Sitting down in his chair, she felt the cushion deflate some under her weight.

 _So this is what it feels like to be Mr. Jefferson._

Max noticed his mouse pad was a copy of van Gogh's painting "Starry Night." She lifted the mouse to get a better look at it, and the computer screen came to life. Upon seeing the new source of light, Max looked up. Her breath stopped. The background of Mr. Jefferson's computer was the picture she had taken of him the first day of school. Staring, she examined all the details, from his wide, surprised eyes to the photography book hanging by his side, almost slipping between his fingers. The picture she took wasn't particularly visible if someone didn't know what it was to start with.

"Wowsers," Max breathed out. She still couldn't believe what she was looking at. Had he truly liked her portraiture that much? A rush of pride made her shiver. Her hope rekindled. Mr. Jefferson saw something in her talent. That much was certain.

Perhaps she should have a bit more confidence in herself. She had had an idea for her 'everyday heroes' entry. It was a picture of herself looking at her wall of pictures. The idea sparked from the concept that she was just about as average as one could get. And weren't photographers, in their own right, everyday heroes? They went to the furthest reaches of Earth, to some of the most dangerous locations, and could still inspire the world with a single photograph. They were the recorders of history, from the front-lines to the headlines.

And wasn't it also a representation of their generation? The future of the country. Adults might mock them for their interest in social media and investment of "online friends," but they were making more connections around the world than any generation before. Shouldn't that mean something? It wasn't impossible that the next generation would be more sympathetic, more understanding, more worldly, even, without ever having traveled outside of their country. And in the end, photographs connected. People want to _see_ each other, not just read words on a page.

But then the doubt had set in. Victoria knew Max was self-conscious about her selfies. She constantly mocked Max about them because of that. But now, looking at this picture - her first photo at Blackwell inside of her first assignment at Blackwell - she felt as though maybe, just maybe, she could take on the world with her vision.

Max knew that there was probably a file on her somewhere in the office. Her heart raced as she considered sneaking a peak. Wouldn't his true thoughts about her photography skills be there? She checked his desktop but there wasn't exactly a "STUDENT FILES" folder available. Quickly, she began to browse through his documents. He was just as meticulous in organizing his documents as he was his books. In no time at all, Max found exactly what she was looking for.

Max knew she could get suspended for this. Opening the folder, she found her file in it. She clicked it, and her academic profile came up. Scrolling down, she found the notes left at the bottom: "Promising vision but almost crippling lack of confidence. Is shy and does not like to participate in class and becomes more flustered when called upon. But has a pure element to her photographs unlike any of her classmates. She has a gift for the so-called "selfie" but her vision needs to be expanded upon into other categories. Would write a recommendation when she applies to photography school." Rereading the small note, Max couldn't help but smile.

 _He thinks you have a "gift."_

Suddenly, the doorknob began to jiggle. Her heart raced. She quickly closed everything before turning off the computer monitor. Leaping to her feet, she rushed to the shelves and grabbed the first book she saw. She looked over just as the door opened. It opened to reveal Mr. Jefferson standing on the other side, looking rather exasperated. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Don't let her scare you, Max. She's gone," Mr. Jefferson said.

Max couldn't tell him why she had actually been so startled. Meekly, she nodded her head. "Thanks for coming back, Mr. Jefferson."

"I wasn't that far out when I got the call from Kate. You have some good friends here, Max," Mr. Jefferson informed her.

"Kate's a real sweet person," Max concurred.

"Not just Kate, though. Your boyfriend and Miss Scott kept her distracted while you hid," Mr. Jefferson offered. He took a step towards her. "I made it clear to the reporter that any further contact will be treated as the harassment it is."

 _Does he mean Warren?_

"My boyfriend?" Max breathed out slowly before remembering to close the book she was holding. Putting it back where she got it from, she shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid I don't know his name. He isn't in one of my classes," Mr. Jefferson offered. "But the boy who follows you around and dotes upon you."

Max didn't hang out with any other guys. "His name is Warren. And he's _not_ my boyfriend."

Mr. Jefferson's eyes widened for but a moment. It was so quick that Max thought that she had just seen the glint from his glasses. "Are you certain _he_ knows he's not your boyfriend?"

"What do you mean by that?" With that, Max clutched at her bag as though it was an anchor.

"I simply mean that I know the look of a man who is in love," Mr. Jefferson replied before taking another step towards her. "I've seen that look many times in my life. Sometimes even when looking at my own reflection. If you aren't dating, it isn't because his feelings are lacking."

Sighing, Max averted her eyes. "I know. I know how he feels about me, but I'm just… I'm not interested in him as anything more than just a friend."

"You should tell him that, Max," Mr. Jefferson advised, his tone softening. "His interest in you won't wane otherwise."

"I just don't want to hurt him," Max confessed, her voice sounding quiet even to herself. As if her volume would bring about more disaster.

Mr. Jefferson hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his beard. "I know you don't, but he's going to be more hurt if you wait."

"I suppose you're right," Max mumbled, willing for Mr. Jefferson to let it go.

 _Well, this managed to be an even more awkward conversation than the last one. I didn't think that was possible._

Mr. Jefferson stepped closer to her, his eyes unwavering. "What are your plans this weekend, Max?"

"Nothing so far," Max replied. "Why?"

"My lawyer's dropping by Saturday afternoon to talk in more detail about the case. He wants to meet you as well, and there'll be some paperwork for you to sign so he can represent you," Mr. Jefferson explained before rubbing the back of his neck. "If you would like, you can come over for dinner Saturday night. We'll be having pasta and wine. But, I suppose if you're coming, I will buy something for you to drink. Whatever you like."

"I'm good with just water," Max replied, not wanting to be a burden. "Or maybe some tea?"

Mr. Jefferson bobbed his head once, an almost-nod in response. "I can either pick you up at the dorm at 4:30 or you can take a bus. It stops probably about a ten minute walk from my house, although the route takes about 30 minutes. Whatever you're more comfortable with. We will eat at 5:30."

"Why are you picking me up an hour before then?" Max inquired.

Mr. Jefferson replied, "Because I have to cook, and I want to make sure to have plenty of time before he arrives. He'll be driving about three hours to see me, and he'll be heading back the same night. If I don't give him something worth driving for, he'll never let me hear the end of it."

"If it's going to cause you trouble-" Max started to say.

"If it was going to cause me trouble, I wouldn't have offered," Mr. Jefferson cut in. He held her gaze, unwavering. "But if you make me drive, I'm going to expect an extra set of hands in the kitchen."

 _Cooking with Mr. Jefferson. Am I fucking dreaming?_

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Max tried to find her voice. Anxiety kept it within its clutches.

 _Come on, Max, are you cereal? You're never going to get a chance like this ever again!_

"It'd probably be better for you to pick me up. I'm worried I might get lost," Max said, her voice barely constituting proper speech.

Mr. Jefferson took a step to the side. Now, her pathway to the door was entirely clear. "4:30 o'clock then, Max. Sharp. Meet me in the staff parking lot."

"Aren't you worried someone will notice and get the wrong idea?" Max asked.

Mr. Jefferson replied, "The only person who will be around who cares is David Madsen. But he's been made aware of your situation, and he's going to make sure that no reporter loiters about the school grounds again."

"Okay. If you're certain."

"I am, Max. For once, let me worry about this, and you just relax," Mr. Jefferson stated.

Max bit back a scoff. "Mr. Jefferson, with all respect, but you've handled everything ever since the accident."

"Good. Then this will just be one more thing to the list," Mr. Jefferson said, his grin broadening. "But I mean it, Max. You should be worrying about your _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ submission, not about borderline stalkers."

Giggling, Max replied, "I just want to go back to being a Blackwell student."

"We're beyond that. But small steps help," Mr. Jefferson answered matter-of-factly. He wasn't telling Max anything she didn't already know.

"I'll keep that in mind. See you around, Mr. Jefferson," Max said, giving him a small wave before scuttling out of the room.

How she wished it was Saturday already.


	11. Kairosclerosis

Rain drizzled against the windowpane. It had been a slow Thursday, the rain clouds only seeming to drag time to a screeching halt. Max had sprawled out on her floor, her homework fanned out around her. Thumping her pencil against her notebook, she scanned through the words of her science book. Chemical names were strewn all across the page, each of them appearing longer than the last. She could comprehend them about as much as she could Latin.

A knock resounded. Max looked up from her homework. "Come in!"

Opening the door, Dana poked her head in. "Hey, Max! The football team set up a couple slip-n-slides outside the dorm. Let's go!"

"Slip-n-slides?" Max echoed before getting up. She walked over to her window and lifted the blinds. Sure enough, two large orange Slip-N-Slides stretched across the green. A couple of football jocks stood around it as well, all of them in their swimming trunks.

Dana threw Max's closet open. "So get on your swimming suit."

Max stared at Dana a moment as she rooted through her clothing. "U-uh… I don't know if-"

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Max. You need to feel like you're an 18-year-old again," Dana replied before finally finding Max's swimming suit. She tossed it over to her. "Look, I get it. Life doesn't always turn out the way we expect. But we do what we can with what we have. And what you have is a friend who cares about you."

Max felt her heart fill. Dana was so open-minded, unlike the rest of the Vortex Club. No doubt, she actually cared about Max and what she was going through. With that, Max pulled her into a tight hug. "Thanks, Dana," she whispered.

"Don't thank me yet," Dana replied, hugging her back. She then released Max from the hug and took a few steps back. "And don't forget to bring a towel. We're leaving them right outside the door so they don't get caught in the rain."

Holding onto her swimming suit, Max said, "I won't forget."

"And if you aren't downstairs in five minutes, I'm sending Zach and Logan up to drag you down!" Dana threatened as she headed out the door.

"Okay!" Max acknowledged, smiling despite the threat. Once she heard the door shut, she got changed. Her bikini was ruffled and pink with white polka dots. When she bought it at the time, she had been rather indifferent towards it. She had just wanted the whole "shopping" process to be over. Now, she wondered what sort of comments the others would make about it. Victoria, no doubt, would make a jab or two.

 _You shouldn't care what Victoria thinks._

Grabbing her towel, Max headed downstairs. She stepped out to find everyone's towels piled on the side. She dropped her towel onto the pile and stepped out into the cold rain. Hugging herself, she watched as Logan and Zachary raced each other. They both hit their own slip-n-slides and slid so far that they fell off the back. They sprang up, both sprinkled in grass, laughing. Smiling, Max wished she had brought her camera down.

"Max!" Warren called out, jogging over from where he had been chatting with Brooke. Brooke scowled at Max but said nothing. "Glad you came out."

"Yeah. Dana came by and told me what was happening. It looked hella fun," Max said.

Suddenly, Max's hand was grabbed. "Sorry, Warren, but she owes me a slide!" Dana cut in, dragging Max off.

"W-wait, Dana!" Max objected as Dana pulled her into the line to slide.

"I'm done waiting, Max," Dana informed her. Her hair was released from its usual ponytail, plastered against her shoulders and neck. "Although I am glad that I didn't have to send the boys up to get you. I was going to have them throw you across the slip-n-slide if it came to that."

"It wouldn't have been a very pretty sight," she noted with a small giggle.

Dana replied, "But it would have gotten you out of your room for once."

Max was struck by that sentence. She had always been a homebody, finding the isolation a consolation more than anything. Honestly, the only time that it wasn't true was when she and Chloe had been together. But that was only because Chloe forced her to come out of her shell. She forced her to go down to the beach to play pirates. She pushed Max's imagination to the brink. On her own, Max felt like half the person she was when she was with Chloe.

 _I so need to call her._

"Max, c'mon! It's our turn!" Dana exclaimed, nudging Max back to the present.

Glancing back over at Dana, Max saw a competitive light flash in her eyes. A grin slowly spread across her face.

"3… 2… 1… Go!" Zachary exclaimed.

Max sprinted as fast as she could. However, Dana pulled ahead quickly. Her athletic form really did lend to itself in such a situation. With a laugh, she jumped and landed on her rear, facing Max as she slid. She gave Max a little wave, almost taunting, before coming to a halt just over halfway down.

"Go, Max, go!" Warren yelled.

Max leapt at that point, belly-flopping onto the slide. The water that had collected on the slide sprayed out across both sides. Dana squealed, blocking the water. Max laughed as she hit the end of the slide, sitting in the small pool there.

"And the winner is Max Caulfield!" Warren shouted, mimicking a sports announcer.

Getting up, Max laughed before offering Dana her hand. Dana took it and used it as leverage to hoist herself up. "Best two out of three?"

"Sure!" Max replied.

They got back in line, standing behind Stella and Ashley this time. The boys were getting a bit more daredevil with it, trying to always outdo the last person. This amounted to spinning whilst sliding, flipping off the end, trying to synchronize slides, and so on. The girls were far more straight forward, and a touch louder with their fun. When they went the second time, Dana won the round, as Max tripped right before her slide. The third time, though, Max out-slid Dana easily.

"You win," Dana stated, throwing her arm over Max's shoulders in an almost-hug. "You wouldn't let it be best three out of five, would you?"

Max laughed at the joke. "I think I'll take my win. Thanks for the offer, though."

"Worth a shot," Dana responded. Logan started to walk over when Dana abruptly turned both of them away from him.

Surprised, Max looked at her. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah. I just figured you would want to talk to Warren," Dana said. It was only then that Max realized they were making a straight line for Warren and Brooke.

Max didn't completely believe her, but she knew better than to push the matter. Walking over, Max offered Warren and Brooke a small wave. While Warren waved back, Brooke merely rolled her eyes.

"Oh, hey, Max," Brooke commented dryly, crossing her arms. She was in a cute black one-piece with purple and blue stripes cutting diagonally across.

Max offered a weak smile. "Hey, Brooke. Having fun?"

"As much fun as H2O will allow, considering it's basically the kryptonite for any my tech," Brooke responded.

"Max, we should go slide together," Warren exclaimed, his grin spreading wider across his face. Brooke's scowl deepened.

"Why don't you and Brooke go instead? I think I'm a bit splashed out, you know?" Max nervously suggested, hoping Brooke would stop glaring at her.

Brooke blinked a few times. "Yeah, I'd be willing," she mumbled, barely loud enough to be heard.

"O-okay," Warren said, deflating a bit.

 _I wish he wouldn't make it so obvious._

With that, Brooke and Warren headed towards the slides. Max and Dana exchanged glances. "Alright. Note to self: don't get in between Brooke and Warren," Dana stated with a somewhat nervous laugh.

"No kidding," Max said under her breath. "I think they would make a cute couple, though."

"Do you?" Dana pressed, examining Max carefully.

Flustered, Max sputtered, "Y-yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I just mean that Warren clearly has a thing for you. You don't-?" Dana pressed, raising her eyebrows.

"No!" Max scoffed out. First, Mr. Jefferson, and now, Dana. "I mean, he's a good friend. But that's _all_."

"You could certainly do worse than him, though," Dana noted, watching as Warren and Brooke took their turns.

Max felt as though she was almost being rebuked. "I know. But I just don't want him. Is that wrong?"

"I mean, he's nice. Funny. Smart. He thinks the world of you. Clearly, Brooke would murder to have what you got," Dana said. Frowning, Max started to feel guilty. There was no good reason for her to _not_ like him, she knew. "But no, Max. There's nothing wrong with you not liking him back. Some people click. And some people don't. You are not obligated to him because of his feelings. But… have you told him yet?"

Warren sprang up at the end, his eyes already locked onto Max. "No."

"You should," Dana murmured as Warren got closer. "It'll be better for both of you in the long run."

Max knew she was right. After all, she had no intentions of being anything more than friends. And Warren clearly wanted more. But he had never outrightly asked her out. And she really didn't want to cause any drama in their friendship. Indecision seized her. Risk Warren now? Or risk him later?

Suddenly, Warren's face appeared in front of her. She almost jumped out of her skin. "C'mon, Max!" With that, he grabbed her hand and started to pull her over the line. She refused to look towards Brooke, knowing the girl would be brooding at that point.

The rain was starting to pick up, not that anyone particularly cared. Max hugged herself, standing just a foot or so off from Warren. The rain was starting to get a bit too cold for her now that she wasn't huddled with Dana like a penguin. Rubbing her arms, she looked at the grass in front of her. She couldn't tell him now. Not in public like this. Not when she wasn't even sure she wanted to say anything.

"-ax? Max?"

Blinking, Max looked up to find Warren waving a hand in front of her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You good?" Warren asked.

 _Why does he have to be observant now of all times?_

"Yeah," Max replied, waving off his concern.

They reached the front of the line, and both stepped up to the starting point. Lowering himself into a runner's position, Warren looked over at Max. She lowered herself as well.

Once she was ready, Zachary began his count. "3… 2… 1… go!"

Max took off again, running with a conservative amount of energy. Warren pulled ahead and threw himself with a cheer into his slip-n-slide. Just as Max leapt, a commotion sounded out from the direction of the principal's house. She slid and looked over to see two umbrellas sticking up over the crowd of students sprawled out. At the end of the slip-n-slide, Max could barely made out Principal Wells.

"What on Earth is going on here?" Principal Wells exclaimed, his voice carrying easily over the rain.

Freezing, Max felt a sense of dread wash over her.

"We're just having some fun," Logan stated, approaching Principal Wells. It was probably for the best. The football team was only second to the Vortex Club in getting away with shit. And part of it was because a lot of them were _in_ the Vortex Club.

Nathan Prescott also stepped forward, his hands on his hips. "There's no rule against it either."

"That be it as it may, as the principal of this school, I have to watch out for the wellbeing of its students," Principal Wells objected, raising his head high. Max was surprised he was standing up to Nathan Prescott, of all people.

"They're just having a bit of harmless fun," a second voice objected. Max recognized it almost immediately. "And I'm sure they'll pick everything up once they're done. Right?"

"Of course, Mr. Jefferson," Nathan Prescott said, his voice taking on an almost unnaturally polite tone.

Victoria, in her designer bikini, flounced through the crowd. "Mr. Jefferson, you really should give it a go. It'll be fun!" she purred, taking hold of his arm.

Mr. Jefferson smiled, although it was strained. "None of you want to see an old man like me throw out his back, I assure you." His gaze then landed on Max. Eyes widening, he looked at her for longer than she expected.

She realized she was _still_ in the pool. Getting up, she hugged herself again, shivering. She definitely had had enough of the slip-n-slide. As she headed over to the front door, Warren caught up with her. "Do you not want to go again?"

"No. I think I'm good," Max replied as goosebumps crawled across her skin.

The weather was definitely colder now. Stepping under the awning, Max started to feel the cold really seeping into her body. She was going to have to take a warm shower. She rooted through the towels to locate her own, a white towel with a floral pattern in its borders. As she continued to hunt, she became more frantic. She knew that she had brought it down and remembered exactly where she put it.

 _Where could it have gone?_

Max felt another ripple of goosebumps. Rubbing her arms, she bounced a few times as she tried to warm herself up. She worried that someone might have taken it by accident. She couldn't very well go in, dripping wet. Turning back, she noticed Victoria was still attached to Mr. Jefferson. And that's when she saw what was in Victoria's hand. Victoria must have been distracted in the middle of stealing it by Mr. Jefferson's presence.

Walking over, Max felt more dread than before. She hadn't thought it possible. She squared her shoulders and steeled herself. As she got close enough, she called out, "Excuse me."

"Yes, excuse you. We're in the middle of a conversation," Victoria snapped, scowling.

"I believe you have my towel," Max stated, crossing her arms more to keep herself warm than out of impatience.

Confused, Victoria then glanced down at her hand. She flustered, almost dropping the towel as if it was evidence of her guilt. But she composed herself, offering it to Max. "Sorry. I don't know why I picked up such a raggedy thing. Clearly, it's not mine."

Max snatched it away. She was dismayed to find it was already wet from the rain. It wouldn't do her much good. Wrapping herself up in it anyway, she shuddered as the cold towel touched her skin. She definitely was going to take a shower.

The rain stopped, but Max could still hear it pouring around her. She looked up to find Mr. Jefferson standing over her with his umbrella. "I'll walk you to the door. You should see if one of your friends is willing to grab you a dry towel."

Nodding, Max did her best not to press closer to his warmth as they walked to the front door. The slides were already being rolled up by the grumbling football players. Max barely managed to catch Dana before she went in. Dana was only too eager to help Max out. As she waited there, she bounced a few times.

"It's good to see you enjoying your time here again," Mr. Jefferson abruptly noted. He leveled Max with a heavy gaze. "But don't forget about the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest."

Before Max could reply, Mr. Jefferson headed off. She watched his retreating form, including how Victoria fell in line with him. His words left waves in her mind, as a stone would a pond. Honestly, she had never considered herself _unhappy_ at Blackwell. But she also knew that it wasn't the same. Her rose-colored glasses were gone. Girls here were just as vicious, boys just as awful, and friends just as complicated.

 _At least Saturday's hella close._

As Dana handed her another towel, Max felt a smile sprawl across her face. "Whoa, what are you so happy about?" Dana inquired.

"Nothing. I just thought of something funny," Max lied.

No one could know. Not ever. But Max sort of liked that. Her own little secret, shared only with Mr. Jefferson. It made her feel special. And unlike her towel, that was something Victoria could _never_ take from her.


	12. Limerance

Max was ready to go at three o'clock, and the final hour and a half of waiting was agonizing. All she could do was keep checking the clock and finding time dumps in the meantime. By the end of it, her room was cleaner than before she moved in, her photographs were reorganized, and Lisa had been given a fresh helping of water. She could feel herself going stir crazy as it finally hit ten minutes til.

 _For reals, that has to be close enough._

Max left her room. Around this time, the Vortex Club was usually getting prepped for the night of hard partying. That involved a whole schedule of things Max didn't even want to think about. At least it meant no one would bother her. Leaving the dorm, Max found a few football players passing the ball back and forth.

 _That's right. There's a game tonight._

Dana had invited her. Not that Max could make it tonight. But she supposed she really should give a game a shot. She might not have had a lot - or any - school spirit and even less interest in sports, but it would be a good distraction. And the Bigfoots weren't doing too poorly this season from what she heard.

 _It would be nice to be able to root for someone for once._

"Yeah, no, I'd totally fuck Victoria if I didn't think that freak Prescott would sic his dad on me," one of the players stated.

"Man, I'm tired of that kid thinking he owns this place. He couldn't throw a punch to save himself," the other concurred.

Keeping her head down, Max passed the principal's house. It seemed that Nathan wasn't very popular outside of the Vortex Club. Not surprising, though. His attitude made him hard to like. Quite frankly, Max felt like he and Victoria were made for each other. But there was always the chance of someone snapping and murdering the other one. Probably Victoria.

Max wanted to look nonchalant, but she had never been good at managing her anxiety. Instead, she found herself glancing around, always checking for Mr. Madsen, who was known to be on campus on Saturdays, or any other teacher. The staff parking lot was empty, though, outside of the Principal's car and one other. She recognized Mr. Jefferson's car immediately. Walking over, she opened the passenger door and slipped in.

"Hi, Mr. Jefferson," she greeted as she buckled up.

"Hey, Max. How're you today?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, driving from the parking lot.

 _Ecstatic. Nervous. Overwhelmed._

"Fine."

 _Or that. That works, too, I guess._

"How're you?" Max remembered to ask belatedly. She hoped it came out less strained than she felt it did.

"I'm doing well. I've been doing homework all day today, so I'm looking forward to the break," Mr. Jefferson said.

Confused, Max raised her eyebrows. " _You_ have homework?"

"Who do you think grades your assignments?" Mr. Jefferson replied, a chuckle coloring his tone.

"If you stopped handing out assignments, you wouldn't have to grade on the weekends," Max teased. "Just a thought."

"I'm sure you would like that," Mr. Jefferson replied, laughing outright this time. "I'm pretty sure Blackwell would have something to say about that, though, when I tell them that 25% of your grade comes from in-class participation and the other 75% from your final project."

Max giggled and felt the blush spring across her cheeks. "You could always try making it 20-80," she murmured, staring out the window.

Laughing louder now, Mr. Jefferson replied, "Yeah, that will certainly make it better."

Pleased, Max stared down at her bag, which sat in her lap. She hated that she still felt any type of nervousness around him. Mr. Jefferson had proven to be nothing but considerate of her. Why couldn't she just act normal the whole time she was around him? Why was it that a time like now, she felt her heart quaking as much as it was? And he was perfectly oblivious to her feelings.

 _Play it cool, Max._

"Not to use the fact that I have you trapped against you for long, but I'm still waiting on your _'Everyday Heroes'_ entry," Mr. Jefferson pointed out.

Max tried not to grimace. "I, um, I have an idea, Mr. Jefferson. I just haven't taken the photo yet."

"Don't wait too long, Max. The art world waits for no one," Mr. Jefferson informed her.

 _I know that already._

Silence descended gradually before engulfing the atmosphere. Looking out the window, Max let her eyes flicker with the trees. She had never seen Mr. Jefferson's house before, and she had no idea how far away they were. All she knew was that the quiet was starting to become stuffy. The only distraction was the car's engine, a soft rumbling echoing through her as they drove, and the rapid-fire beating of her heart, which she would rather forget was there.

"Would you like to listen to some music?" Mr. Jefferson inquired.

"Yes, please," Max said in one breath, her desperation for a distraction obvious.

With that, Mr. Jefferson turned on the audio. A song came through, reminding Max of the blues or jazz, although she wasn't well-versed enough in music to be able to label it. But there was definitely a lovely mesh of trumpets, piano, and - possibly - cello?

 _"Finally, I woke one day to join 'em. Flip side of the coin, and being there's no turning back! So I'm a little bit-"_

Mr. Jefferson hit the button for the radio. Immediately, the local top hits station began to play. "Sorry, I didn't realize I had my old man music playing."

"It's okay. I was enjoying it," Max offered honestly.

"That's kind of you to say," Mr. Jefferson replied, obviously not believing her. He turned the volume to the song down slightly. "I won't lie, music nowadays lacks in content. The lyrics just don't speak to an audience as much."

"I am really picky about what songs I listen to because of that. I'd rather have something with lyrics that speak to me than hearing someone sing 'Baby' eight times as a chorus," Max confessed, hoping that he wouldn't make a comment about her 'hipster' status. "Some of what I listen to doesn't have any lyrics, but it always feels like it has more soul."

"That's a good way to put it, Max. 'Soul' is definitely what songs nowadays lack," Mr. Jefferson praised.

He understood, and Max felt relieved. She wasn't a "freak" or "hipster bitch" to Mr. Jefferson. Instead, she was just Max - a young girl interested in whatever she enjoyed. Unlike what most believed, she didn't like "unpopular" things just because they weren't popular or because she wanted attention. She enjoyed them because they spoke to her more.

"We're here," Mr. Jefferson said. "My home sweet home. It's far nicer than my flat in New York."

Blinking, Max looked up to find a ranch-styled house in front of her. It was in the posh neighborhood, probably not too far from where the Prescott Estate was. It had a nice, grey brick on the outside, fitting in well with the clean, white siding. She got out of the car, which remained in the driveway, and looked around. Mr. Jefferson didn't have a yard to speak of, but his house had a direct view of the ocean. A fence went around the property, which was on a cliff. It was a shame, although probably necessary for safety reasons. But that fence cut through the spectacular view.

"You might want to pick your jaw up from the ground before coming inside," Mr. Jefferson jested as he walked up to his front door.

Snapping her mouth shut, Max felt totally self-aware. She jogged to catch up with him. Stepping inside, she looked about the entrance hall. Dark wooden floors stretched out as far as she could see. The walls were a lovely deep red, leaving Max with a feeling of warmth upon entering. A few pieces of art hung on the walls, normally with only a hint of red to tie them together.

Next to her was a small shoe rack, complete with a few sets of Mr. Jefferson's shoes. Mr. Jefferson kicked off what he was wearing before plodding down the hall. Max carefully removed her own shoes and placed them next to the rack before hanging her bag on a coat hanger. She also headed down the hall, which opened into an open floor plan. The kitchen was a sharp left, just behind the hallway wall, with the dining room just to her left and the living room to the right. From there, there appeared to be a hallway that led to the rest of the house.

She walked into the kitchen. The cabinets matched the flooring, and stainless steel appliances appeared as though they had just been polished. The counter-tops were beige granite, freckled with darker and lighter spots to create a texture. It also morphed into the backsplash. Honestly, Max was blown away. This kitchen had to be more expensive than her entire first floor at home. There was also an island in the middle of the room that was covered in food: carrots, bell peppers, celery, cherry tomatoes, a head of lettuce, several eggs, and some shredded cheese. There was also a yellow cutting board out.

Rolling up his sleeves, Mr. Jefferson said, "You're going to be in charge of the salad. All your ingredients are on the counter. Everything's already been washed."

Max nodded, trying not to stare at his remarkably defined arms. Honestly, his shirts hadn't done him any favors. He clearly kept himself in shape despite his self-declared "old age." Grabbing the head of lettuce, she forced herself to look away. Better for her to have something to do when filling the time. She pulled the cutting board over. Without hesitating, she slammed the lettuce down, core towards the counter, to bust it apart. The core caved in easily, and Max removed it.

"Where's the trash?" she inquired.

Pot in hand, Mr. Jefferson nodded towards the glass door that led to the patio. It was situated between the kitchen and the dining room, giving a wonderful view of the ocean. And the fence in between. However, the trash can sat in between the door and the counter. She pitched the core and brought the lettuce to the sink, washing it. Once she got it back to the cutting board, she began to fumble through the drawers.

"What do you need now?" Mr. Jefferson inquired in an unassuming manner.

"Knife," Max replied.

Mr. Jefferson walked over to his butcher's block and removed one of the smaller knives from it. "Careful with this. Don't cut yourself."

"You're starting to sound like my dad," Max teased as she took the handle. She pointed the blade towards Mr. Jefferson playfully. "I'm an adult, you know. I think I can wield a knife."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm not your father," Mr. Jefferson responded, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Just spare me."

Max giggled before turning back to the lettuce. With several sharp movements, she had it chopped down to manageable bites. She then picked it up just as Mr. Jefferson set down a bowl for her to put it in. Dropping it in, she reached forward and grabbed one of the eggs, curious as to why he put them out. She realized why the moment she picked it up, feeling their heavy, full mass. Cracking the bottom of the egg, she carefully started peeling it.

"I feel so nostalgic," Max commented idly, her eyes never leaving the egg. "I used to cook with my best friend the morning after I spent the night before…"

 _Before her dad died._

"... before I moved to Seattle."

"Does she still live here?" Mr. Jefferson inquired as he turned on the stove. A ginormous pot sat on the stove, and Max worried that Mr. Jefferson was secretly going to have twenty people over to feed.

"Yes," Max replied as she sliced the egg. She made sure not to make it too thin, though, not wanting the egg to fall apart. "She never moved away, as far as I know."

"As far as you know? Have you not visited her yet?" Mr. Jefferson inquired as he grabbed the salt. He poured in what Max would call a generous amount.

Stuttering, Max tried to find the right words that wouldn't lead to judgement. "U-uh, no, I haven't - we haven't had the time to - to catch up," she said, shelling another egg. It wasn't technically a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

"There's still plenty of time," Mr. Jefferson noted as he grabbed a box of dried noodles. "Although I do find it rather telling that you haven't cooked for yourself since then."

"Isn't that what parents are supposed to be for?" Max tried to joke. Her anxiety quieted when Mr. Jefferson chuckled.

"Touche."

Max finished the eggs. She grabbed the celery, wanting to save the carrots for last. Washing the stalks in the sink, she looked outside the window and at the ocean. It was strange how something so small - so insignificant - could bring Chloe right back to her mind. Her best friend had been all but off the grid for the last five years. Max hadn't the slightest idea what had happened with her... to her. All she knew was that Chloe had taken her dad's death poorly.

 _Not that there's a good way to handle something like that._

There was no judgement from Max's side. After all, she was the one who had left. She hadn't asked her parents to move, but move they had. And she hadn't been the type of friend she wished she was. The guilt still lingered. Would Chloe hold it against her? Or would she forgive Max for her failure to communicate? Max still wasn't brave enough to find out.

Her finger stung. Dropping the knife, Max exclaimed, "Ow!" The blood seeped from a thin cut. She hadn't been paying enough attention when cutting the celery.

"Let me see it," Mr. Jefferson ordered, rounding the counter in an instant.

Holding it out, Max felt him grab her wrist and bring her hand closer. He shifted his glasses slightly as he examined it. Then he pulled her over to the sink and put the assaulted finger under cold, running water.

"I thought you said that you knew how to use a knife," he managed to jest as he opened a cabinet. He reached up to the top and removed a first aid kit.

 _Super smart to keep it in the kitchen._

Max shrugged one shoulder. "I spaced out. Sorry."

"Well, I'm glad to know you don't just do that in my class. But do be careful, Max," Mr. Jefferson playfully goaded as he pulled her finger back. He dried the area before carefully wrapping a band-aid around it. It was secured tightly, making it hard for Max to wiggle her index finger fully.

"I will be," Max promised, turning back to her project. She checked the celery for blood before deciding to scrap the last bit that she had cut. There was no reason to risk it, after all. And salads didn't usually taste good with a dash of iron anyway. "Do you want the cherry tomatoes cut?"

"No. Just drop some in there. Jeff doesn't like them, so he'll just fish around them," Mr. Jefferson replied.

"Jeff?" Max echoed in confusion.

Mr. Jefferson, who was stirring the sauce pot, didn't look back. "My lawyer," he clarified.

"Oh."

 _If you had thought about it a moment, you would have realized, Maxstein._

With that, Max picked up a small handful and sprinkled them into the salad. She grabbed a red bell pepper and started slicing it open. "How long has he been your lawyer?"

"Oh, forever now. I knew him back in university. We were roommates our freshman year," Mr. Jefferson informed her. He then stuck the spoon into the sauce and carefully carried it over to Max, one hand underneath it to catch any spillage. "Taste this and tell me what you think."

Max tasted it. It was certainly robust, the herbs having settled into the sauce nicely. There was a small kick at the end as well, which Max appreciated. Most wouldn't guess it looking at her, but Max rather liked some heat to her food. Her parents tried to accommodate, but their sensitivity never allowed for Max to really enjoy some spice. "It's delicious," she told him.

"Good," Mr. Jefferson replied. He set the spoon in the sink and lowered the heat to a simmer. "Do you need help with the salad? The noodles have a few minutes left."

Perking up, Max inquired, "Could you handle the carrots? I'm almost done with the peppers."

Mr. Jefferson nodded. As he started to peel the carrots, Max finished dicing the peppers. She cleaned off the island as best she could with a paper towel. She glanced up to see his muscles flex with every movement. If he ever wore a short-sleeved shirt to school, he wouldn't be able to peel the girls off him.

"I haven't had to cook for someone else in a while," Mr. Jefferson commented, cracking the quiet.

Max replied, "I'm surprised you aren't married, Mr. Jefferson."

"Not for lack of trying," Mr. Jefferson remarked as he added the carrots. He certainly had finished them faster than Max ever could have. "Never seemed to suit me, though. And once I became famous, it became difficult to find someone interested in me and not my status."

 _Yeah, I believe that. Even at Blackwell, he has students after him because he's famous._

 _But aren't you one of them, Max?_

The thought came to her so suddenly that it startled her. Staring at Mr. Jefferson, Max wondered if she would have been as interested in him if he was just Mr. Jefferson, photography teacher. But if that were the case, Max would have never come to Blackwell. She had applied because the Mark Jefferson was teaching. But certainly, she didn't only like him because he was famous. There were plenty of other aspects - many that she got to see personally. And she seemed to be the only one.

"Max?" Mr. Jefferson called out, sounding concerned. "Spacing out again?"

"Yeah," Max replied. Her nerves got the better of her, though, as he continued to watch her. Honestly, she was scared he was going to be able to see through her. "I was just thinking that that was such a shame. You deserve someone to like you for you."

 _Smooth._

"Well, if you know anyone who fits the bill, do let me know," Mr. Jefferson stated, his voice becoming almost heavy on Max's ears. His eyes never flickered from her face. "I would be certainly happy to meet with such a woman, no matter who she might be."

Eyes widening, Max wondered if that was supposed to be a cue of sorts. She opened her mouth just as the doorbell rang. Jumping at the sound, Max only then recalled that the lawyer had yet to arrive. Mr. Jefferson signaled for her to wait before rounding the corner. A moment later, she heard the door open.

"Mark!"

"Jeff!"

"I brought the wine so I didn't have to deal with your terrible taste."

Max then poked her head around the corner to see the two men in a friendly embrace. The visitor was around Mr. Jefferson's age. His dirty blond hair was slicked back, and he looked quite intimidating in his suit. Stepping back, he looked down the hall. His blue eyes were just as critical as Mr. Jefferson's, and Max felt pinned underneath them.

"You must be Max. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name's Jeffrey Neis. N-E-I-S, not N-I-C-E," Mr. Neis greeted, holding out his hand.

Shaking it, Max answered, "I'm Max Caulfield. Nice to meet you." She then realized what she had said and felt her cheeks start to burn. "N-no pun intended."

"Don't worry. I'm quite used to it," Mr. Neis replied, smiling at her. "Mark here can testify to that."

Mr. Jefferson scoffed. "What do you mean? You introduced yourself to everyone as 'Mark Jefferson's roommate, Jeff Markerson' the entirety of our freshman year," he noted with a soft, teasing tone.

Eyes widening, Max inquired, "Did people believe you?"

"Once Mark figured out to play along, yes," Mr. Neis replied with a wink. "And that took longer than it really should have."

"It only took a few days," Mr. Jefferson chided before sliding past them. "Dinner's ready."

"What're we having?" Mr. Neis inquired, following. He almost had a spring in his step, Max noticed, a certain lightness that she thought was lost with age.

"Pasta and salad," Mr. Jefferson replied from around the corner. Mr. Neis opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Jefferson continued, "And before you start complaining that it's no five-course meal, I made the sauce myself yesterday."

Mr. Neis barked out a laugh, it filling the open rooms easily. "Well, how can I complain then?"

"You can't," Mr. Jefferson answered matter-of-factly. He grabbed the salad bowl and placed it in the middle of his wooden table.

Mr. Neis opened a drawer and rummaged through it. "It's been awhile since I was last here."

"And yet you remember where the bottle opener is," Mr. Jefferson noted as Mr. Neis pulled it out.

"Well, you have to remember the important things."

Meanwhile, Max shuffled her feet slightly as she listened to the banter. Their friendship was nice to see, but it made it hard for her to speak. She wondered if she would ever have that kind of relationship with someone. Someone where the whole world would melt away whenever they were together.

 _You had that._

Max pushed the thoughts of Chloe away once again. She might have had it when she was 13, but that didn't mean she had it anymore. Or could have it anymore. Staring at the ground, she tried to reorient herself here.

"Your Mr. Jefferson has told me only good things about you, Max," Mr. Neis suddenly offered as he poured two glasses of wine.

Head snapping up, Max felt her cheeks flush again. " _M-my_ Mr. Jefferson?"

"Well, I know him as just 'Mark,'" Mr. Neis said, his eyebrows coming together in confusion and curiosity. Max didn't like the look whatsoever. It felt as though he was getting closer to the truth. The truth that she refused to acknowledge. "But he's Mr. Jefferson to you, isn't he?"

"Yes," Max replied before glancing at Mr. Jefferson. His lips were pulled in a strained line as he reached for some salad bowls. Looking back at Mr. Neis, she continued, "He's spoken highly of you as well."

"You're not very good at lying," Mr. Neis said gently, a smile touching his lips. "That's not necessarily a bad thing. It just means that it'll be easier for me to get to the truth."

"To be fair, I haven't said anything bad about you either," Mr. Jefferson offered as he set the bowls down. "Come eat. You can interrogate her later."

"Hey, now, I'm not a police officer," Mr. Neis replied, approaching the table. He sat down at one of the seats before making a face upon seeing the salad. "Tomatoes."

Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "I think you can manage to pick them out."

"You know, I was going to be nice, but now..." he stated before looking at Max. Alarmed, Max glanced at Mr. Jefferson. What had she done to be caught in the crosshairs? "I am sure Max here would _love_ to hear about how you were in college."

Filling Max's bowl with salad, Mr. Jefferson replied, "Don't you have anything else to use as blackmail?"

"Not anything I can talk about since you signed me as your lawyer," Mr. Neis replied jokingly. He then leaned over towards Max. "Did you know that _Mr. Jefferson_ here originally went to school on a baseball scholarship?"

Despite herself, Max perked up. "I didn't."

"Why would she?" Mr. Jefferson inquired before filling his own bowl. "I don't talk to my students about ancient history."

"Which is why I'm here," Mr. Neis quipped.

"I thought you were here to better represent us?"

Waving his hand, Mr. Neis replied, "Two birds, one stone." He then accepted the salad bowl that Mr. Jefferson passed to him. Filling his own bowl by carefully rooting about the tomatoes, he continued, "He was one of their best batters on the team. Not that that's saying much. We weren't exactly renowned for our sports."

"I can't imagine it," Max confessed. Sure, he was fit, but wouldn't the glasses get in the way? And when did he find time to both play and pursue photography? It just seemed so conflicting.

Mr. Neis laughed. "Hard to imagine now, I am sure. But you never saw him with a bat in his hand. Couldn't throw a punch to save his life, but put something in his hands, and he could take down just about any man."

"Jeff," Mr. Jefferson called out, his voice cautioning, "she's my student. Remember that."

"She's also my client. She deserves to get to know me a bit more," Mr. Neis remarked before taking a sip of wine.

Mr. Jefferson looked towards Max. "What would you like to drink?"

"Water's fine," Max answered honestly. She enjoyed tea, but she very much doubted that it would complement the pasta well.

As Mr. Jefferson rose to get her a glass, Mr. Neis continued as though nothing had been said. "Besides, as you noted, it's _ancient history_. So what's the harm? You won't tell anyone, right, Max?"

"I won't. I promise," Max replied softly.

"See? And she's such a terrible liar that you know she's being truthful!"

Anxiety started to well in Max's mind. She knew that she should be excited to learn new things about Mr. Jefferson, but she hadn't anticipated it being quite like this. She felt guilty. If Mr. Jefferson didn't want her to know, she felt that Mr. Neis should respect that, even if they were old friends. Uncomfortable, she focused on eating her salad and kept her head low. Silence filled the room. It was nearly stifling. The sound of the glass hitting the table, though, caused her to look up. Mr. Jefferson was glaring at Mr. Neis, who only seemed to catch on then.

"I hope I didn't offend you, Max," Mr. Neis said, his voice serious for the first time. It was so drastic from before that Max felt compelled to look up. "I might be playful because I've known Mark for years, but I am serious about representing your interests. Your name should have _never_ been printed in the Beacon without your consent. Mark told me all about it. I was very frustrated by the lack of professionalism."

With that, Max began to relax in her chair and put her fork down, now finished with her salad. "Do you think we have a case?"

"Yes," Mr. Neis replied without missing a beat. "If what Mr. Jefferson tells me is true, that is."

"And it is," Mr. Jefferson stated before rising to his feet. As Mr. Neis continued to enjoy his salad, he collected Max's bowl with his own.

Mr. Neis hummed as he carefully chewed his bite. "So Max, you never received an email or call from the paper before they published this article?"

"No," Max responded. "You can check my email and phone records. I didn't have any clue as to what they were doing until it was already too late."

Mr. Neis nodded, mulling it over. "I will have to obtain a copy of the records as evidence for if we take this to court. Although there's a fair chance that the newspaper would be willing to settle this out-of-court. I suppose the real question is, what do you want from this?"

"I want them to apologize for what they did," Max replied as Mr. Jefferson set a bowl of pasta in front of her. She offered him a tentative smile. "Thank you."

"And what else?" Mr. Neis replied.

Confused, Max asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, usually, this involves some sort of settlement. The company will pay out a certain amount of money as compensation for your troubles," Mr. Neis explained as Mr. Jefferson set a bowl in front of him as well. He carelessly stabbed a few of the noodles with his salad fork. "How much should I look for?"

Max was quite startled by the thought. When Mr. Jefferson had brought up pursuing this, she hadn't realized it would be for a monetary amount. She would have been happy with just a formal apology and a concerted effort to never let something like this happen again. "H-how much should I ask for?" she inquired, glancing between the two men.

"She is an innocent one, isn't she?" Mr. Neis asked, looking over at Mr. Jefferson. He then looked back at Max, examining her closely. "You honestly were only looking for an apology from them?"

Max's entire face was burning, from the tips of her ears to the base of her neck. "W-well, they can't take back the fact that they published my name. They should acknowledge that what they did was wrong. And they should never do it again."

"Then we'll ask for recompense for emotional distress and settle for anything 20 grand or above out of court," Mr. Neis stated, seeming satisfied with his own answer. "That'll easily cover my bills and leave one of you with a nice sum of money. Assuming you haven't managed to squander all of yours by purchasing this house, Mark."

"Don't worry. I'm still rolling in more cash than you could even dream of," Mr. Jefferson joked, a certain edginess to his voice. Turning to Max, he explained, "This guy laughed at me when I declared my major in photography. He didn't see my full potential."

"And he never lets me forget it," Mr. Neis noted with a twinkle in his eye. "But he's brought me quite a few clients, one of them being yourself. So I suppose I cannot complain."

Max nodded in acknowledgement. By now, the tension had started to seep from her body. Mr. Neis was just playful, and she was starting to get a bit used to it. The meal continued relatively undisturbed. Mr Neis enjoyed regaling Max with the tales of their time together in university. His voice would always get rather low, as if he was letting her in on some big secret. Usually, Mr. Jefferson would only chirp in if he felt as though something significant was being missed.

One story had been about Mr. Jefferson finally 'becoming' a photographer: "About halfway through his sophomore year was when it was like a switch had been hit. Suddenly, Mark just went out one weekend and got a few piercings in his ears. Real artsy-fartsy types, too. That made a couple heads turn. Not quite as common as it is nowadays, you see."

"Yes, we're all grateful that phase is over now," Mr. Jefferson cut in, amusement coloring his tone.

Another was about a blind date gone wrong: "You see, the girl I was interested in was only willing to go out with me if it was a double date with one of her friends. And I had to supply the other male. So I bribed Mark with the promise that I would pay for the whole meal and that it was just a dinner."

"And he had to pay for my gas," Mr. Jefferson pointed out.

"There was that, but that was only, like, five bucks. If even." He then turned back to face Max, "The issue was, though, that when we got there, this girl's friend was even more attractive than her. I didn't know what to do with myself. It was as though I was immediately in love all over again."

Max made a face and giggled. "So you were only interested in her for her looks?"

"Well, I mean… yes, but _I'm_ the victim here, don't forget that," Mr. Neis playfully replied. "Because hotshot over here had the girls all over him the entire dinner! I was the social leper. The third wheel. All they wanted to know was 'Mark' this and 'Mark' that. And then I had to _pay_ for it."

"He's never let me come on a date of his since and almost didn't invite me to his wedding," Mr. Jefferson stated, not even trying to hide his smirk. He took a sip of wine. "Not sure why."

"I'm just grateful you didn't steal my wife for our wedding night," Mr. Neis replied with a laugh.

Then there was the prank they played on their neighbors: "Now, this one was all Mark's idea. We had a couple of guys who lived next door to us. One of them had decided to give Mark a hard time because he was taking black-and-white pictures. What did he say again, Mark?"

"'This isn't the 1920s anymore. Buy a camera that can actually use color,'" Mr. Jefferson responded solemnly.

"Right, right. Well, Mark here didn't take too well to that. So one afternoon, we skipped classes, and we got into their room. Don't ask how, Max. We all have to have our secrets. But we got in there, and we inverted their room perfectly. We even managed to flip the lamps, although it did require quite a bit of balancing with the table. When they came back, they didn't even know what to do with it. It took them _hours_ to get their room back together."

However, it was his story about one of their classes that stole the show: "We didn't talk to each other beforehand, and it's the only class we took together. But, I mean, when you _have_ to take an English course, and one of them is 'Drugs, Lit, and Culture,' I mean - how can anyone really pass that up? It was the same philosophical fluff that any literature class had, but we all got to write down our favorite quotes from the books we read. And the professor said he would give us extra credit if we came in our last day with a shirt that fit the theme of the class. But I had an even better idea."

"Notice, Max, that it was _his_ idea," Mr. Jefferson chirped.

"So we went out the week before and bought a package of blank t-shirts. And we bought some tie-dye and shirt paint. And on the last day of class, we were the most spectacular-looking hippies in the room. But that wasn't the best part. The best part was the fact that we wrote our favorite quote on it. It was a marvelous quote from the book 'Go Ask Alice.' And by that, Max, I mean it was absolute rubbish. Never read it. But the quote was, 'Another day, another blowjob.' And we wore those shirts proudly the whole day."

Sputtering on her water, Max coughed out her laughter. Mr. Neis clapped her on the back, a little too hard. Upon the third _thump_ , Mr. Jefferson caught his arm. "You'll give her whiplash if you keep that up, Jeff."

Max calmed down with a few more coughs. But it was hard of her to get that image out of her mind now that it was planted there. No doubt that Mr. Jefferson would fail her if she ever told anyone else about it.

By the end of the dinner, Mr. Neis looked perfectly sated. "Jesus, Mark, you cook better than my wife."

"You knew that when you married her," Mr. Jefferson pointed out with a chuckle as he collected the dishes. "How about I make a couple cappuccinos for dessert? And I have some tea for you, Max."

"That would be great," Max replied politely.

Mr. Neis got up. "Before that, though, I have a couple of papers for you to sign, Max." He retrieved his briefcase from the front and opened it. He placed a packet in front of Max and one where Mr. Jefferson sat. Opening it, he went through all of the legal jargon and translated it into layman's terms. She went through it with him, following him the whole way through. It was quite intimidating. It made everything _real_ to her.

"Is this really okay, Mr. Jefferson?" she asked, looking over at him as he filled two cappuccino cups.

"Max, I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't," Mr. Jefferson reassured her.

Mr. Neis continued, "Besides, he gets the friend discount, and his case is stronger with another plaintiff. So don't let him make you feel as though you owe him anything."

"O-okay," Max murmured. With that, she signed and dated the papers. "If I don't have to go to court or have any more publicity, though, I would appreciate it."

"I am the very being of discretion, Max," Mr. Neis reassured her. "Mark's already told me about the nature of the situation. I still believe we should prosecute the school themselves, but that would cause a public scandal. So we have decided not to pursue that unless you tell me otherwise."

Shaking her head, Max replied, "No, thank you." Mr. Jefferson then placed a cup of tea before her. She picked it up, the warmth spreading through her hands. It smelled of peppermint, which was lovely. It always reminded her of Christmastime, and the colder weather certainly set the atmosphere for it.

"Let's go out and enjoy the sunset," Mr. Jefferson stated, motioning towards the patio.

No objections were had as they went outside. The sky was darkening into beautiful shades of purple, orange, and pink. The sun hung low on the horizon, the bottom appearing to just caress the water of the ocean. Max stationed herself on the outdoor sofa whilst Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Neis took up the two chairs. Sipping her tea, she relaxed.

"So you seeing anyone, Mark?" Mr. Neis inquired conversationally.

"Not anymore," Mr. Jefferson replied, his voice rather curt.

"What happened to that last girl? Rebecca, wasn't it?" Mr. Neis pressed.

Ears perking, Max barely kept herself from looking over in open curiosity. She didn't want to seem nosey, after all.

"Artistic differences drove us apart," Mr. Jefferson replied. "That was awhile back, though. I'm surprised you even remembered her."

Mr. Neis hummed, his head tilting. "Didn't seem that long ago to me. But then again, we probably haven't spoken for over half a year until this recent event, have we? Jesus, time really starts to fly once you get old." He then looked over at Max and gave her a wink. "Do yourself a favor. Don't get old."

"The other option seems a bit less appealing," Max pointed out before taking another long sip of her tea. She could feel the warmth slide down her throat. Curling up a bit more, she flashed Mr. Neis a polite smile.

"Touche," Mr. Neis responded. "To be 18 again. You really don't realize what you've got until it's gone."

"I'm not sure being 18 is so great," Max mumbled, staring out at the water.

"Ah, you just say that because you don't know how truly awful it is to be in your thirties. Or forties. Or fifties," Mr. Neis informed her. "But you'll see in good time."

Mr. Jefferson responded, "Getting older should be something you look forward to, Max. There's plenty of this world you haven't seen yet. And you still have your future in photography to enjoy."

"Thanks, Mr. Jefferson," Max reflexively replied. She knew he thought she had a gift, but sometimes, it was so hard for her to see herself. After all, she was just Max. Nothing she ever photographed seemed particularly spectacular. But his faith in her did keep her going. There was no way Mr. Jefferson was wrong. Not unless she proved him wrong.

The conversation mellowed along with the tea. Mr. Neis started asking Max about herself, and she told him just about everything she was comfortable with. At least he seemed nice. And if he wasn't interested in her answers, he certainly didn't portray that at all. She finished her first cup of tea.

"I'm going in to make another cappuccino. Would either of you like something?" Mr. Jefferson inquired.

Max chirped, "I would appreciate another cup of tea."

"I'll take a cup of tea as well," Mr. Neis replied.

Mr. Jefferson quirked an eyebrow. "Since when do you drink tea?"

"Well, I figured I might as well give it a shot," Mr. Neis answered. "She seems to be enjoying it. Must not be too bad."

"I bought the tea for Max to enjoy. I'll make you another cappuccino," Mr. Jefferson replied. There was no argument to be had against that, as he entered his house a moment later.

Mr. Neis huffed. Max, feeling slightly awkward, said, "If you really want some tea, I am happy to share it with you."

"No, no, he's right to keep it from me. It would just be a waste on me. I've never been able to appreciate that bitter leaf," Mr. Neis replied. "Coffee, on the other hand, I'm practically a connoisseur."

Mr. Jefferson emerged a minute later with the drinks in hand. Their idle conversations resumed yet again. As they spoke, though, she found herself becoming more and more tired. Her eyelids, unbidden, began to close. Sometimes, she would have to blink several times just to force them to stay open again. After she finished her second cup, though, she found it almost impossible to stay awake. She nestled into the sofa as the stars above twinkled away the last of daylight. Both the men began to speak quieter, noticing. They were catching up, from what Max could make out. Most of their words went in through one ear and out the other.

Shivering, she curled in closer to the back of the sofa. She heard some rustling, and a minute later, something covered her. She caught Mr. Jefferson's scent. His jacket then, she realized, as she pulled it closer to her in her half-conscious state.

"Mark, you know I care about you. We've been friends for years. And we will be friends for years to come," Mr. Neis said, his voice becoming somber. Max couldn't help but eavesdrop. Whatever he was about to say next clearly had some weight behind it. "But you need to be careful. She's young. She's bound to misunderstand-"

"I am being careful," Mr. Jefferson cut in.

"Really? Because it doesn't seem like that to me," Mr. Neis responded. "There's a reason I wanted us to go out to eat. In a public setting. You're placing your reputation in real danger here. If she goes to the school with some concocted story-"

"She won't, Jeff," Mr. Jefferson stated confidently. "Max isn't like the rest of my students. She never has been. And she would never falsely testify against me. She doesn't have it in her."

Mr. Neis hummed before saying, "I don't get that feeling from her either, but the point is that you cannot make yourself so vulnerable. She really isn't worth your reputation."

"I'll be the one to decide what is and isn't worth my reputation," Mr. Jefferson snapped.

With that, it seemed, the conversation was over. Max heard nothing else as sleep tugged her into its embrace.


	13. Eumoirous

Stirring, Max felt as though a fog had settled on her mind. She groaned and buried herself back into the pillow, blocking out what light permeated through her eyelids. But the smell of bacon filled the air. Her stomach rumbled in complaint. Even so, the bed was so comfortable, so soft, that she didn't want to move.

 _When did my bed get this hella comfy?_

Her eyes snapped open. The room was unfamiliar to her. The comforter was white with beautiful black roses splashed across it. There was one night stand on either side of the bed, one with a lamp and the other a clock. 10:13AM, it read _._ Max blinked at the numbers a few times.

 _Did I really sleep for, like, twelve hours?_

She looked over and found a black vanity directly across from her. Her hair was rumpled. But her makeup was surprisingly still intact with just a little smearing. Wiping her eyes, she cleaned up her makeup as best she could. She also started running her fingers through her hair. She fluffed it out before patting it down.

It took her a moment for everything to sink in. She had slept over at Mr. Jefferson's house. Looking around, she quickly took in the pristine curtains and otherwise empty room. It was the guest room. She felt relieved that she hadn't inconvenienced him so much that he had gone without a bed.

The aroma of bacon summoned her out. Her bare feet padded against the cool, wood floors. Walking down the hall, she emerged in the living room. The television was on, showing the morning news, and Max could hear the sounds of breakfast being made. She half-expected to see the Prices when she rounded the corner. Instead, she found Mr. Jefferson, looking as dapper as always. His white button-down shirt was covered with an apron, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Max stopped and cleared her throat awkwardly. When Mr. Jefferson didn't hear her over the sizzling pan, she called out, "U-um… good morning, Mr. Jefferson."

Turning, Mr. Jefferson looked back at her and smiled. "Good morning, Max. You crashed pretty hard last night. Still having problems sleeping?"

"Not as much," Max admitted. She rubbed her arm nervously. "Sorry about passing out like that, though."

"Don't concern yourself about it. I'm getting pretty used to it," Mr. Jefferson replied, lightly teasing. "I must admit, it was far easier to get you to that bed than the last one."

Max's face went scarlet. "I-I-"

"Relax, Max," Mr. Jefferson soothed. With that, he placed a plate onto the counter before sliding a fork up next to it. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes filled the plate. "Go on and enjoy it. I'll join you in a minute."

Grabbing the plate, Max walked towards the door. She looked outside to find it was a beautiful day again. Instinctively, she walked over to the sliding glass door and pulled it open. She stepped out onto the patio and sat down. Looking out across the sparkling, beautiful blue water, Max couldn't help but smile. She loved the natural beauty of Arcadia Bay.

"I was wondering where you went," Mr. Jefferson called out from the door. Stepping out, he sat down in the other chair. He had removed his apron and gotten himself a plate as well. "There's something about this sight that never quite gets old for me."

"That's because it's ageless," Max responded, forking up some of her eggs. "The ocean is older than human history. Generations have looked out across its waters."

Mr. Jefferson stared at Max as she spoke, his eyes sparkling. His gaze made her suddenly aware of herself. "You never cease to amaze me, Max," he complimented.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Max replied before stuffing her mouth with eggs so that she didn't have to talk any more.

"That's because you don't see it," Mr. Jefferson said. "Most great artists don't, though. That's the true tragedy."

Eyes dropping, Max shuffled a piece of bacon around before cutting a bite off one of her pancakes. "I'm not a great anything yet, Mr. Jefferson."

"But you will be. I have faith," Mr. Jefferson informed him before taking a bite of bacon.

As the silence settled, Max felt the surrealism of the situation. She was eating breakfast with Mr. Jefferson as if it was an everyday occurrence. If Victoria knew, she would have been unbelievably jealous. Max smiled. As much as Victoria wanted to be special, Mr. Jefferson wouldn't bend to her will. And that made this moment even more remarkable. Because in her mind, someone like Victoria deserved this. She was beautiful, intelligent, outgoing, and had a true photographer's eye. Not only that, but she wasn't afraid to let her feelings be known.

"Last night was a lot of fun," Max offered as she looked down at her half-empty plate.

"Didn't bore you to sleep?" Mr. Jefferson joked. Before Max could answer, though, he continued, "I'm glad you enjoyed last night. Do me a favor, though, Max? Don't mention any of those stories to anyone else. I don't need any students besides you having blackmail on me."

Max couldn't tell if Mr. Jefferson was joking or not. She decided to remain on the safe side. "Mr. Jefferson, you know I would _never_ -"

"I'm not worried about you, Max," Mr. Jefferson cut in. That statement did little to reassure her. "I know that you would never take advantage of this. Just… keep it to yourself, okay? There's no real good way to spin, 'I slept at Mr. Jefferson's house because we're planning to sue a newspaper together.' It'll lead to more questions than anything."

"Yeah, no, of course," Max replied. "I won't tell a soul, Mr. Jefferson."

 _And I won't even write anything in my diary about it, just in case._

"I knew I could rely on you, Max," Mr. Jefferson replied, giving her a wink.

Max smiled back before dropping her gaze back to her plate. "Thanks, Mr. Jefferson."

Through the idle morning chatter, Max finished the rest of her eggs and bacon but only half of her pancakes before she couldn't eat any more. Max could feel the food baby when she stood up. Stretching, she walked past Mr. Jefferson and into the kitchen. She pitched what was left of her pancakes, hoping he wouldn't take offense, and walked over to the sink. Pans were piled in it, and Max pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. She grabbed the dish soap and turned on the sink. Snagging the nearby sponge, Max began to scrub the top pan. The warm water rushed over her hands as she scrubbed away the remnants of the eggs. A drying mat sat next to the sink. Max set the first pan down and grabbed the next.

"What-?" Mr. Jefferson started to ask, balking at Max from the doorway. Max froze, uncertain why he seemed so surprised. "Why are you doing the dishes?"

"Because you cooked?" Max stated, not understanding how that was so incomprehensible.

"Max, you're my _guest_ ," Mr. Jefferson pointed out as he walked over.

"That's how I was raised. If you don't cook, you clean."

It wasn't completely a lie. The Price family had raised Max just as much as her own family did. Whenever William cooked, if Chloe and Max didn't help, they cleaned up. And if they did, everyone cleaned up together. Max had it drilled into her that any grateful eater cleans their plate and the dishes. She had already failed the first bit, but she wasn't going to insult him by failing the second. Only that he apparently didn't perceive it as a sleight. Then again, she hadn't spent the night anywhere since leaving Arcadia Bay five years ago.

"Do you have a single bad bone in your body?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, his jaw slightly dropped in awe as he spoke.

 _Wowsers. I haven't heard that question in ages._

"I have moments," Max confessed. "Sometimes, I get pushed too far."

"It's hard for me to imagine," Mr. Jefferson confessed as he opened his dishwasher and placed his plate inside. He then grabbed Max's plate and fork from the counter and put them away as well. "It's probably why you become such a target for them."

"Who?" Max inquired, not following the line of thought.

"The Vortex Club girls," Mr. Jefferson stated. Startled, Max wasn't sure how to react. "You think I don't notice how they treat you? Teenage girls can be vicious and unjust."

Max finished cleaning the bacon pan and set it aside. "Then why don't you do anything?" she inquired, a frown pulling at her lips.

"Perhaps I should. But I only step in when I believe that intervention is necessary. Because, Max, the world is just as unkind out there as it is in Blackwell's halls. People will gossip. People will use cutthroat tactics to get ahead. If you don't start thickening your skin to it now, you'll be eaten alive," Mr. Jefferson explained. He crossed his arms and frowned. "I know it's not a pretty picture. But tabloids don't care that you're a flawed human being. Critics don't care if they don't understand your vision. No one actually wants to get to know you for _you_. They'll say whatever they can to get you to talk to them. And they'll write whatever they can to sell their story. And if that involves turning on you, they'll do it without a second thought. _You_ don't matter to them."

Max felt anxiety prickle at the back of her mind. Honestly, she hadn't really thought much about joining the art world. She knew that it was unforgiving. She knew that it had destroyed many hopefuls. She knew that only the best - or maybe it was really the strongest - came out. And she knew that photographers were, for the most part, only famous in small circles. Her name would never be a household one. But if she could just take photos for a living, she couldn't help but believe that it would be enough. Besides, Max didn't imagine she would do well in the spotlight.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Mr. Jefferson said, his voice softening. He gave her a half-smile and small shrug. "I am just used to being criticized for my perception of a teacher's job."

"No, it's just… all very foreboding," Max confessed before turning to the last pan. She focused - perhaps a bit too hard - on scrubbing it clean of the pancakes' remains. "I'm still trying to find myself."

Mr. Jefferson scoffed. "Max, you already _have_ found yourself. No pun intended."

"The art world will only laugh at my silly retro selfies," Max pointed out as she finished washing the pan. She turned off the water and looked for a towel.

Realizing what she needed, Mr. Jefferson handed a hand towel to her. "That's not true. But if that's really how you feel, we need to sit down sometime soon and talk about your future in photography. Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Thanks, Mr. Jefferson," Max murmured.

"It's my pleasure," he said, his voice warm. It could still make Max melt. "Oh! Before I forget..."

With that, Mr. Jefferson disappeared. Max thought about following, but her arms were still dripping wet. As she dried them with a towel, Mr. Jefferson reappeared with a photo frame in his hand. "I believe you asked for this. I never could find a good time to give it to you, though."

Curious, Max took it. She looked down to find her photo of Arcadia Bay at night, printed. Mr. Jefferson certainly had access to some state-of-the-art technology, given how beautifully printed everything was. Max could see the almost minuscule differences in shading, and the fact that it still printed out the stars was better than Max could have done at school. Beaming, she looked up at Mr. Jefferson and wished she could hug him. "Thank you so much. This is... super cool. I super appreciate it. D-do you want the frame back?"

"Keep it. I have a stockpile of free frames in my office closet. Keep getting them for free from companies for some reason," he noted with a sly smile. "I'm glad you like it. Now, I better get you back to school before someone realizes you're missing."

Max headed to the front and collected her bag before pulling her shoes on. Mr. Jefferson slipped on his own shoes with the assistance of some stick that Max had never seen before. However, he made it look easier than bending down and cramming his feet in. Then they were both out the door and in Mr. Jefferson's plush car. As the quiet hum of the engine filled the air, Max fiddled with her gift as she considered his words. Mr. Jefferson was so confident in her capabilities. But what happened if she proved him wrong? What would happen when she finally disappointed him?

It was one of the reasons she was so obsessed with capturing moments. Someone can't go back in time. They can't recapture something that was lost. Pictures, at least, could catch it in some semblance of it. They could remind people of better times, worse times, important times. It reminded people of what was lost, but also what was gained.

Max still adored her picture of her and Chloe dressed up as pirates. It had been a common game that they played as children, but there was genuine joy in both of their expressions. It was one of the last photos that they took together before Chloe never smiled that way again. That was the reason her heart still throbbed looking at it, even all these years later.

 _You're such a terrible friend. You need to call her._

"Mr. Jefferson?" Max called out.

"Yes?" His voice was still calming, confident even now. "What's on your mind, Max?"

"Why do you like photography?" she inquired. She needed something to distract her from her own circling thoughts.

Mr. Jefferson hesitated a moment. "There is so much destruction in this world. Natural and manmade. Many people want to capture it. They want to pull at the hearts of people with overwhelming sadness because they know no other route. We are already barraged with such images every day. Bombs going off, people murdering each other, wildfires, tornadoes, global warming. And we are becoming more connected to it every year."

"But you don't like that?" Max asked as she listened.

Shaking his head, Mr. Jefferson continued, "We are losing something precious. Innocence doesn't come back once corruption sets in. Once your eyes have been opened to the world, you cannot fully shut them again. I want to capture those bits - where innocence remains untouched - to remind everyone what it was like. Before there's no more innocence left to capture."

Max let out a long breath as she heard that. It certainly was a heavy answer. "Has it become harder to capture?"

"Harder? Yes. But I am not sure if that's because I'm finding less of it or because I have a better understanding of what 'innocence' actually is," Mr. Jefferson replied.

"How do you find it in models?" Max asked. Given the industry, it must be difficult for Mr. Jefferson to have subjects for his focus.

Chuckling, Mr. Jefferson answered, "I don't find it in models but in moments. For instance, a young woman sliding across a Slip-N-Slide in the rain with her friends."

Max perked upon hearing that, flattered at the thought. "I… I see."

"Why did you ask?" Mr. Jefferson inquired.

"I was just curious. You're renowned for your portraitures and use of chiaroscuro. But you've never really talked about what made you passionate about photography," Max explained, only half-lying.

Mr. Jefferson hummed. "Do you think I should?"

"What?"

"Do you think I should talk to the class about that?" Mr. Jefferson clarified. "Do you believe it's important?"

Max shuffled her feet, considering his question. She was a bit nervous about answering, as though she was being given a pop quiz. After considering it, though, she said, "I think it's important for people to think about their focus. And you talking about yours might help."

"I'll consider it then," Mr. Jefferson said before stopping his car. They were a block away from the school. "Probably best you're not seen getting out of my car. Wouldn't want to add any fuel to the fire."

Max nodded before getting out onto the sidewalk. "Thanks again, Mr. Jefferson."

"See you tomorrow, Max," Mr. Jefferson replied. As soon as she closed the door, he took off.

Heading down the road, Max considered Mr. Jefferson's words. He had such a strong belief that Max felt a bit lost in its wake. Did she really feel as strongly about her own photography? Should she? Or was his confidence something that came with age? Or experience? Or was it a core part of his personality? And that brought back her concern that certain personalities were required to become a renowned photographer. And she didn't have it. She had never had it.

 _But he believes in you. It must be for good reason._

Honestly, Max hadn't seen such unshakeable faith since Chloe. Chloe had always advocated for Max's photographs and pronounced her as a "future famous photographer" more times than Max cared to remember. No matter what - no matter how down Max got - Chloe was always there to pick her back up. And then she had left when Chloe was at her most vulnerable. Not because she wanted to but because she _had_ to.

Max pulled out her phone. She knew where Chloe lived. She knew where Joyce worked. And she bet that Chloe's home number hadn't changed. It only took one call - one voice message - and she could have her best friend back in her life.

 _If Chloe will have you._

Doubt nagged at her mind. What if Chloe wanted nothing to do with her? Not that Max could blame her, but she would be crushed. And she couldn't face that. She wasn't brave enough. Shoving her phone back in her bag, Max walked up the stairs back onto campus. A piece of paper fluttered by, catching Max's attention. She then looked up to see a bulletin board covered. All of the papers were the same:

MISSING

Missing from: Arcadia Bay  
Date Missing: Mon April 22 2013

Other:

Age: 19 years old  
Height: 5'5" Weight: 110 lbs  
Hair: blond Eyes: Hazel

Tattoo on calf of a dragon and a star on the inside of the left wrist.

Rachel Amber  
Age 19

PLEASE CALL WITH ANY INFORMATION  
CALL: Arcadia Bay Sheriff's  
(555) 388-6020

There was also a photograph of a beautiful girl with long hair and a feather earring. She must be Rachel Amber, and Max couldn't help but think it was a tragedy. She had heard that Rachel had gone missing earlier in the school year. A couple of students had whispered about it, no one talking too much. Apparently, though, someone missed her, because Max could see hundreds of fliers all about the campus, put up seemingly overnight.

 _I wonder what happened to her._

Max turned away from the fliers and headed to the dorm. Head low, she wondered if these fliers would make a difference. Would people start talking about her again? Or would they politely ignore her as they would a homeless person? There was no telling with Blackwell students. Just when Max thought them predictable, something always came about that surprised her.

"Max!" The familiar voice pulled her instantly from her thoughts. Surprised, Max looked about to find Warren waving a hand from his window. "I've been looking for you! Stay there!"

Obeying, Max stayed put as Warren disappeared from view. She could feel anxiety start to well up. How long had he been looking for her? Did he realize how long she had been gone? Quickly, she put her photograph into her bag to hide it. The less questions he asked, the better. Warren, meanwhile, came running out of the boys' dormitory. He was waving something around.

"Hey, Warren, what's up?" Max asked.

Warren held out a thumb drive. "I keep forgetting to give this to you."

Taking it, Max stared in confusion. "Uh... thanks?"

"The movies!" Warren stated, his voice energetic. "Hopefully, they'll help you sleep."

Max felt realization wash over her. She had completely forgotten about it altogether.

 _That conversation feels like it happened forever_ _ago._

"Oh, thanks, Warren. I'll def check them out," Max managed to answer. Smiling at him, she continued, "I need to go, though, Warren. Homework awaits."

Warren nodded and bowed. "Don't let me stop the slaying of homework. See you around?"

"For sure!"

Max headed off, giving one final wave. She stared down at the thumb drive, slightly nervous about what exactly he had loaded onto this. Walking down the hall towards her room, Max thought she heard something. She paused and listened. It was muffled, but she could make out the heart-wrenching sobs. Looking about, she tried to locate their source. It was only when her ear pressed to Kate's room that she discovered it.

Softly, she knocked on the door. "Hey, Kate? You… you okay?"

 _That's a hella dumb question._

"I-I don't really want to talk about it right now, Max," Kate called back, her voice slightly hitching.

Max felt her heart break. "O-okay. Well, when you do, Kate, you know where to find me. I'm happy to listen."

"Yeah, thanks, Max. Just… leave me alone for now, though," Kate replied.

Backing away from the door, Max worried for her. She had never heard Kate like that before, and something terrible must have happened. Maybe a family member passed? She hoped not. But she knew that, no matter what, she wouldn't let Kate down. Not like she had Chloe. The moment Kate needed her, she would be there - come Hell or high water.


	14. Rubatosis

Max preferred to take pictures by hand. But this was a special occasion. It had taken her fifteen minutes to get her camera properly attached and set up. After taking another half an hour to figure out exactly where she wanted the photo, if she wanted the lights on, how she wanted them draped across the photographs, how her bed should look, ensuring the focus was correct. She was setting a stage. And everything needed to be perfect.

Finally, it came time for her to take her picture. She set the camera's timer and stepped in front of it. She didn't want to block out too many of her photographs, so she made sure to take several steps forward, placing herself perfectly between the camera and her bed. Her camera snapped the photo, the film automatically spitting out. Turning around, Max took the picture and examined it. Her endless nitpicking seemed to have paid off.

She carefully slipped it into her journal. This was it. This was the photo she was going to give Mr. Jefferson for her "Everyday Heroes" entry. Nervousness fluttered in her stomach. She had thought that it would fade once she had the picture taken and done with, but it lingered there, digging its claws into her.

 _I hope it's enough._

Max knew there was a high chance of her losing. After all, she was going up against people like Victoria Chase. But she had taken that step forward - one that she hadn't taken since applying to Blackwell as a student - and she just had to remember that that was enough. Despite this, she worried how she would react to not winning. She could only hope she would bounce back. If not, it wasn't a very promising for her future.

Heading out for the day, Max felt a bit of a spring in her step. It was the first Monday where she wasn't dreading getting up. She stepped outside to find Victoria sitting on the bench. Walking by, Max didn't even turn to look at her.

"Maxine," Victoria called out in a sickly sweet tone.

Max turned her head, her eyes narrowing. "It's Max," she corrected. Not even Victoria could get away with that one. "Never call me Maxine."

"Alright there, Mad Max. Come sit down. I have something you should really listen to," Victoria informed her, patting the space next to her. She had her phone out, and it was ready to play a recording.

Uneasy, Max approached her. "What is it?"

"Something that'll finish our little bet once and for all. Or did you already forget about it?" Victoria inquired.

Max felt her heart sink. Sitting down, she stared down at the phone. She didn't want to see it, but she also knew that her curiosity wouldn't allow her not to. After a point, she needed to know. "You took a video?"

"Audio recording," Victoria clarified. "I couldn't be obvious about it, Max. But this is the conversation Mr. Jefferson and I had after I blew his mind. Amongst other things."

Max caught the hint. Flushing, she closed her eyes as Victoria hit "play" on her phone. She could hear the recording scrape to life, clearly being hidden by some form of cloth - probably Victoria's pocket, given how she never let it stray far.

"So… what'd you think?" Victoria prompted, her voice muffled in the recording. Max leaned in closer to hear it better.

"I-I don't know what to say about it. I knew you were talented, but I didn't realize your talents encompassed this," Mr. Jefferson responded, his voice sounding honest. It was painful for Max to hear, given how it was the same tone he used with her when he told her she had a "gift."

Victoria giggled. "Well, I wanted to impress you, but I was worried my technique was a little… amateur."

"There is room for improvement, yes, but I would be happy to give you tips," Mr. Jefferson responded. "We'll find some time after school. Cool?"

"Yes, Mark. I so look forward to learning from you."

 _She even called him 'Mark.'_

Victoria turned the recording off and looked at Max with a smug smirk. Eyes burning, Max could feel her throat tighten with emotion. But she wouldn't give Victoria the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not over this. Max should have known better She shouldn't have gotten her hopes up that maybe this time was different. Maybe this time she would be noticed. The Victorias of the world belonged in the spotlight, not her. Even so, she couldn't help but think about how she had been with him the whole weekend. He hadn't made a single move on her, and she had thought it was because he was above it all. Now, she knew the truth. She just wasn't good enough.

"So?" Victoria finally prompted, clearly tired of being given the silent treatment.

Max replied, "We call a tie." The words almost stuck in her throat, and her tongue felt swollen and uncooperative.

"Wha-"

"Our deal was that you get photographic evidence. But you got a recording that I am willing to acknowledge. Therefore, we call a tie. We both get to continue the rest of the year without any restrictions in regards to Mr. Jefferson," Max pointed out. Her words came out monotonous even to her own ears.

Crossing her arms, Victoria scoffed, "Fine. But you better keep in mind that Mark is mine."

"Don't worry about that. I doubt I could forget, even if I wanted to," Max mumbled before getting up.

"Bye, loser."

The words bounced off Max as she walked away. Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to fall. Stiffening her lip, she raised her head and choked them back down. She was not going to cry over this. Not over them. They had each other and were going to be perfectly happy together. They even looked like they belonged together. A match made in Heaven. Victoria in her posh outfits and Mr. Jefferson in his sleek suits. That was more than what Max could ever say. No matter how much she might have denied it, she would look awkward and out of place. Victoria was refined, and Max was… well, Max.

 _Chloe would have killed you if she heard you say something like that._

Max hiccoughed a laugh at that thought, wiping the tears away. It was times like these that she missed her best friend the most. But at the same time, it was when she felt most distant from her. There was no way that, after five years, she could call Chloe in a time of need. That was too hypocritical, even for Max. Still, she missed her best friend all the same. Chloe always could kick her in the ass better than anyone else.

As she walked into the school, Max debated taking a full sick day. She wasn't feeling up to classes or seeing Mr. Jefferson, now knowing what she did. But she also knew that she would just mope around all day and not get anything productive done. At least school would preoccupy her mind for a while. Perhaps she might just skip Mr. Jefferson's class. Or would that be too obvious? Would that give Victoria too much of a victory? Max didn't want that either.

Or, at least, that's what Max thought. Her mind never stopped flickering back to that morning. Every moment she recalled hit her like a recoil from a mortar shell, disorienting her. What concerned her more, though, was _when_ did this happen? Was it before her rendezvous with him Saturday? Was she deluding herself the entire time she was with him? She felt as if the memory was already tainting, colored by the haze of pain and jealousy.

 _You're so stupid, Max._

Only the bell managed to cut through Max's thoughts. Getting up, she collected her bag and slung it over her shoulder. The students around her were all talking, some of them looking at their phones as they chattered. Max ignored them. Stepping out, she jammed her ear buds into her ears and turned on her music. As the low, acoustic melody drifted in, she sauntered down the hall. Algebra was next, but she didn't go into the room once she reached it, instead opting to lean against some lockers just outside the door. As the music swelled, she closed her eyes. "In My Mind" had never spoken to her as much as it did now.

A tap on her shoulder made her jolt. Opening her eyes, she found Taylor standing next to her. This struck her as strange, given how she and Taylor weren't remotely friends. Taking out one earbud, she asked, "Hey, Taylor, what's up?"

"Have you seen the video yet?" Taylor asked.

"What video?" Max asked.

Taylor sighed impatiently. " _The_ video. Kate's video."

Confused, Max shook her head. "Kate posted a video?"

"No, Max. Look, give me your phone," Taylor pressed before snatching the phone from Max's hand. Max watched as she pulled up a YouTube video. "Kate got her freak on at the Vortex Club party this weekend. You have _got_ to see it."

"W-wait, Kate went to a Vortex Club party?" Max asked, shocked. That went against everything Max knew of Kate.

Taylor laughed before handing Max back her phone. "Yeah. She got invited, and she got absolutely _wasted_." With that, she wave Max an insincere smile and little wave. "You're welcome!"

Curiosity piqued, Max hit "play." The video was dark, but Max could definitely see Kate. She was on the dance floor, smashed between two guys. One guy had his lips attached to hers, and she seemed just as engaged with him. She then turned around to the guy who had been grinding on her from behind and started kissing him as well. The kisses were deep, open-mouthed, and filled with more passion than Max felt comfortable watching. Some pornos were less evocative. But by all accounts, she appeared to be having a good time. And if it had been anyone besides Kate, Max wouldn't have thought anything of it.

The video had over a thousand views, and it was just posted last night. Already, Max knew it was spreading like wildfire throughout the school. Her heart went out to poor Kate. She knew what it was like to be caught in the crosshairs of gossipers. And now she finally understood why Kate was crying. She must have regretted her actions, and Blackwell had a way of never letting anyone live down their mistakes.

Heading into class, Max sat down at her desk. Algebra was her least favorite subject, although it wasn't because it was overly difficult. Max just had no interest in it. Thus, she wrote down the bare minimum for notes as her mind tried to adjust to the new knowledge. Victoria and Mr. Jefferson were dating. Kate was hanging out in the Vortex Club. Pinching herself, Max winced at the pain. Well, at least she was sure that this wasn't just a terrible nightmare. But it also felt like she was in an alternate reality.

 _This day really couldn't get worse._

Lunch period hit, and Max leapt up from her seat. Kate had history before lunch, so she merely trekked back to her last classroom to find Kate there, staring at her desk. She seemed so out of it. Her notebook was empty, too, not even a doodle.

 _Poor thing._

"Hey, Kate," she called out softly. Kate looked up at her, her eyes puffy. It was clear she had been crying. "Do you want to have lunch together?"

"Hey, Max. No, I'm not really feeling up to it today," Kate answered honestly. Her voice was soft, wounded, and she could barely look Max in the eyes.

Max shifted her weight back and forth. Well, she hadn't anticipated that response. She murmured, "Then we'll go out for tea tomorrow. On me."

"Max, I don't know-" Kate started to object.

"It's just tea, Kate. We won't have to talk about anything you don't want to," Max pressed, her voice edging with a bit of desperation. Kate had reached out to her during a time when she really needed it. No way was she letting this go. "Promise me you'll come."

Kate hesitated before nodding. "Sure, Max. Same time as last time?"

"Sounds perfect to me, Kate," Max replied before offering her a sympathetic smile. One small wave later, and Max walked off. Obviously, Kate wanted to be left alone. She could just hope that she was feeling better.

Heading down the stairs, Max wondered if she should stop by Kate's room later. So far, Kate had been tolerant of Max's pressing, but that didn't mean she appreciate it. Max wasn't sure if she was making things better or worse. She worried it was the latter.

"That's _so_ funny." Victoria's piercing voice cut through Max's thoughts.

Max halted and looked up to find that she was just in front of Mr. Jefferson's classroom. Quietly, she cursed herself for being so mindless. She really didn't want to see Mr. Jefferson today, even in class. But their eyes met, and Max looked from Mr. Jefferson to Victoria and back again. Hurt contorted Max's face without her bidding, and she couldn't neutralize her expression. Eyes burning, she ripped her gaze away and started walking again.

"Max, are you alright?" Mr. Jefferson called out as she brushed past them.

 _What do you think?_

"I'm fine," she replied without looking back.

Victoria said sweetly, "See you later, Max!"

Max didn't give her the pleasure of a response. No, Victoria had already won that morning. She knew it. Max certainly didn't hide her pain. Not that she could. However, she had to face the facts. She also had to keep a straight face in front of Mr. Jefferson and Victoria in class. How else was she ever going to get past this? It wasn't as though this was the end of the world, after all. Max just had a crush. A crush that ended like so many of her others - with nothing to show for it.

 _Chloe would have kicked my ass if she was around._

Of course, Chloe would have also been horrified Max was supposed to be into cute, funny nerds like Warren. An age gap that large was certainly intimidating, especially when looking at the long term. Some women had been mocked for less. And no doubt that people would think Max was after his fame. After all, Max had no doubt that that was why Victoria was clinging to him. But Max would have been happy just being with him. She wouldn't have cared if no one knew, so long as he was hers at the end of the day. That thought made Max's stomach twist.

 _You are in love with him, you idiot._

She couldn't deny it now. Not now that Victoria had him for her own. Max had downplayed her emotions, even in her own journal, because she didn't want to face it. It was easier to hide behind her "JUST KIDDING" comments. Although Max knew other girls would understand her infatuation, she never felt that she had the right. She was seen as the goody-two-shoes hipster. Kate would have been mortified. Warren would have been jealous. Maybe Dana would have understood on an intellectual level, but not on an emotional one. The horrifying fact came down to that only Victoria would truly understand.

But when had her feelings changed? Max started the year with flutters and anxiety because of her respect for Mr. Jefferson. He was a visionary in the field, and he commanded much respect of both his colleagues and students. But at some point, she had wanted something more than just a student-teacher relationship.

 _It doesn't matter what I want. Not anymore._

Max looked up at the clear, blue sky. How she wished today was over already.


	15. Tacenda

Max and Kate were back at their table. Each of them had their hands on their tea cups, but the conversation had halted before it even started. Honestly, Kate just wasn't herself. She had dark bags under her eyes, still puffy. Her hair looked unclean. Not only that, but she had that exhausted look Max used to wear. They obviously

Placing her picture on the table, Max asked, "What do you think?"

Kate's eyes flickered. Then she looked down at it and picked it up. "What's this for?"

"I was thinking about submitting it for the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest," Max confessed. She hoped this conversation might distract Kate for a moment from her own problems. "But I'm not so certain."

"I think it's lovely, Max," Kate replied, a sad smile pulling at her cheeks. She passed it back. "You should submit it."

Max looked down at it again, still not feeling so certain. "Have you submitted a photo yet?"

"Yeah," Kate replied. "I submitted a week ago, I think?"

"What was your subject?" Max inquired.

Sighing, Kate took a long sip of tea. She set her cup back down carefully. "I captured a picture of a firefighter handing a child back to his grandmother and mother. At the time, I really felt like I had caught a true _'_ _Everyday Hero.'_ Now, though, it just seems cliche."

"I don't think it's cliche," Max comforted, rubbing at the lip of her cup. She hadn't expected this to be so difficult. "Police officers, EMTs, firefighters… they're all heroes."

Kate nodded minutely before looking out of the window. "I know I might not seem it, but I do feel blessed that you invited me to tea," she admitted.

"Sometimes, what we need the most is just a friend who will listen without judgement," Max replied. She then laughed. "And other times, we just need to not talk about what's bothering us."

Taking another drink, Kate noted, "We never really got into what happened to you, did we?"

"I wasn't ready to talk about it back then," Max said honestly. "And if you're not ready now, I understand. But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm just a call or text away."

"Thanks, Max, but I'm pretty sure you already have seen enough," Kate answered bitterly, looking out the window. She took another drink and frowned. Already, Max missed her bubbly nature and cheerful smile. "The whole school has already _seen_ everything. And so has my family. And my church."

Heart sinking, Max felt awful. She had considered Kate religious, but Kate was still willing to go out with the Vortex Club. Her family, on the other hand, was probably even more conservative. Especially since her father was a preacher. There couldn't have been anything more humiliating for Kate than to have that exposed.

"Kate, I am so sorry, but you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of," Max pointed out earnestly.

Kate shook her head. "Max, that wasn't me."

Misunderstanding, Max said, "I know it's unlike you, Kate-"

"No, you don't understand! _That wasn't me_ ," Kate reiterated, as though it would make more sense the second time than it did the first. "I don't _do_ things like that."

 _Well, you obviously did that night._

Max didn't say that. She didn't even let the thought flash across her face. Instead, she knitted her brow with concern. Kate needed her support right now, after all. She already was getting judgement from everywhere else. "Kate, we're all human. We all want to try new things, and we sometimes have regrets."

"You just don't get it. Just like everyone else _doesn't get it_ ," Kate snapped back before rising to her feet. Max went to get up as well, but Kate held up her hand. "Thanks for the tea, Max, but I just want to be alone for a while. See you tomorrow."

"Kate, wait!" Distressed, Max watched Kate hurry out of the tea shop without looking back. She sank back into her seat, staring at her half-empty cup. First, Chloe; now, Kate.

 _You'd think after 18 years, I'd have figured out how to be a good friend._

But Max always lost contact with people. When she moved to Seattle, she lost all contact with Arcadia Bay. Now, moving back to Arcadia Bay, she lost contact with all of her friends back in Seattle. Her mother would chalk it up to being "out of sight, out of mind." Truthfully, though, Max was just scared to find out how people were doing without her. She worried more that they didn't miss her. That they had already moved on. That they had already found new friends. That they didn't even think of her anymore.

It was a bit of a Catch-22. Or was it called a Devil's Circle? Max couldn't recall anymore. But she understood the irony. And she could rationalize her fear, and how it tied into her many photographs. But it never changed anything. Max remained just as reclusive, aloof, and shy as she always had been. And she was certain that when she left Arcadia Bay for university, the same thing would happen again with all the friends she was making here. Which included Chloe.

 _It's probably better this way._

A cruel thought that made Max's heart twist. As much as she thought about her best friend and wanted to reach out to her, Max doubted she would ever be able to bring herself to do it. Five years wasn't exactly a small period of time. No doubt that Max couldn't just _saunter_ into Chloe's life again, expecting everything to be the same. And she wasn't sure that she could cope with the differences. Would Chloe still be just Chloe? Or was she different after her dad passed away? Given how close they were, Chloe couldn't have remained entirely unaffected.

Finishing her tea, Max stared at her phone. She knew she should send Kate a text, but she didn't want to come off as overbearing and intrusive. After all, Kate had been asked to be left alone. Max, who had already done enough damage for one day, was more than happy to respect that request. Slowly, she rose to her feet and gave the shop owner a friendly wave before stepping out.

Cold air nipped at her exposed flesh, and she tucked her hands into her jacket pockets. Autumn had finally set in for a day. Max usually loved the crispness of the Oregon air in early October. It reminded her of new beginnings and was the first taste of winter. But now, she was just left with the sense of how how bitingly bitter it was. She almost shuffled back into the tea shop to take refuge from it. But instead, she trotted on down to the empty bus stop.

Staring at the street, Max waited a few minutes. The bus was nowhere to be seen, though, and she started to walk. Her footfalls fell hollow on the concrete as she pushed by the old buildings that hadn't changed since her youth. Head down, she put earbuds in and turned on her music. Her walking became a rhythm. She checked both directions before crossing the road.

Max walked and walked, her legs not tiring. Her mind remained fixated on each passing song. Whenever she started to think again, she would hum along with the music. Right now, she just needed to get away. The concrete sidewalk gave way to a natural dirt path. Blotches of yellows, oranges, and reds sprinkled across the path. Wanting to see how far out she was, Max looked up. A doe stood before her, grazing on some foliage just off the path. Freezing, Max breathed out slowly.

She slowly reached for her camera. Max didn't want to startle the deer before she could get her shot. Bringing it up, she snapped a picture. The flash went off, spooking the doe into fleeing. But Max had her shot. She took the film and waved it a few times. Without checking it, she slipped it into her journal for safekeeping.

The incline required a bit more effort. Max stretched her legs to compensate. Breathing harder, she noticed that she was getting closer. The music she was listening to swelled. It was as if it was playing for her journey upwards. Reaching the top, Max looked up at the lighthouse. She loved it - the beacon for Arcadia Bay. It was one thing that she knew would stand the test of time.

Reaching the top, Max gazed out. The sun was low in the sky, but there was still plenty of daylight left. The light sparkled against the calm waves, lapping at the shoreline. Wind rustled through the leaves, and Max watched several spiral down towards the water. Autumn really was the most beautiful season. Spring was pretty but overrated and oftentimes took too long to set in. Luckily, summers were pretty mild in Oregon, so they could serve as a surrogate spring.

Max sat down on the bench. Pulling her jacket closer, she checked the bench. It was hardly ever used, sturdy. There was a fine layer of dirt, but nothing too disconcerting. Max brushed off what she could before laying down. The sky, treetops, and lighthouse filled her vision. Only a few wisps of clouds filtered out the sunlight. Turning down her music, Max listened as the soothing guitar melody plucked through over the sound of the nature around her.

Closing her eyes, Max let out a deep, cleansing breath. This is what she needed. To get away from everyone. To leave every single worry and concern behind her, even if it was just for a few hours. No responsibilities. No failures. Max was, at that moment, just an 18-year-old girl. Somewhere between adulthood and childhood. Between escaping and being confined. Letting out another deep sigh, she relaxed against the bench. The sunshine was arm against her skin and heated up her jacket and jeans perfectly. The soft music lulled her into relaxing.

A soft murmuring filtered through her earbuds. Stirring, Max let out a shuddering breath. Then she felt her upper torso shake. For a moment, she ignored it, wanting nothing more than to rest a bit longer. But when she felt another shake, she opened her eyes. It was nighttime, a bright half-moon shining overhead along with clusters of stars. However, she still came face-to-face with a pair of glasses and trimmed beard.

 _Mr. Jefferson?_

"Max, talk to me," Mr. Jefferson pressed, his eyebrows drawing up in concern.

Shooting up, Max shivered and felt her body protest the moments. She fumbled to pull the earbuds from her ears, her fingers numb. Her teeth chattered as she asked, "Wh-why are you here?"

"Principal Wells called me to report that you were missing from your dorm room," Mr. Jefferson explained as he took off his suit jacket. "He wanted to know if I might know where you went."

"And h-how did you find me?" Max asked as Mr. Jefferson wrapped it around her. Shivering, she pulled it closer to her. His heat lingered in it, immediately warming her against the cold night.

Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "You told me."

"I-I did?" Max asked. She hugged herself tightly in the jacket, trying to warm herself.

"You told me that this is where you go when you wanted to be alone," Mr. Jefferson responded. He cupped her cheek, his hand scalding against her skin. "You're freezing. Come on, let's get you warmed up."

It was that moment - that touch - that brought Max back. She remembered with searing accuracy what Victoria had told her earlier that week. Without thinking, she pulled her face away from his touch. Mr. Jefferson recoiled in surprise, as if Max had bit him. She pulled off the jacket and rose to her feet in one swift movement. Mr. Jefferson stood with her. Pressing it into his hands, Max managed to say, "Thank you for finding me, Mr. Jefferson. I'll head back to school."

"Whoa, Max," Mr. Jefferson responded, pushing the jacket back towards her. "Do you honestly believe I am going to let you walk back in the state you're in? Come on. I'll drive you back."

Max set her jaw to keep it from chattering any more. "You shouldn't be wasting your time on me, Mr. Jefferson."

"I'm not," he responded, his voice sharp and decisive. He locked Max with a hard gaze. "Why you continue to think you are a waste of time, I will never understand. Now come along. The car's still running."

Max felt her resolve starting to break. She was numb, and she couldn't keep herself from shivering. Pulling his jacket back close, she lowered her head and silently descended. Mr. Jefferson relaxed upon seeing her concede and fell in step behind her. Neither of them spoke on the way down.

Quite frankly, Max didn't know what to say. She had avoided Mr. Jefferson in every way she could, from taking long detours to avoid walking past his classroom to not participating in class. She couldn't meet his gaze, didn't raise her hand, and always bolted as soon as the bell rang. Mr. Jefferson tried to catch her a few times, but Victoria always intercepted him. Naturally, she didn't want her boyfriend chasing after someone else, whether he meant well or not.

Of course, this seemed to backfire. Mr. Jefferson started calling on Max more, forcing her to talk. He began to position himself in front of Daniel's desk, never blocking Daniel from sight but always remaining right in front of Max. And his eyes landed on her more times than not, it seemed. Victoria was getting louder in the course, starting to blurt out the answers instead of raising her hand to respond. Although she never said it, Max found every class more painful than the last. Every minute stretched on longer than the last.

Mr. Jefferson's car was running, just as he said, at the bottom of the hill. With headlights and hazard lights on, it hummed low, cutting through the otherwise silent night. Mr. Jefferson overtook her, opening the passenger side door for her. Max slid in, the door closing behind her, and was immediately engulfed in warmth. Even the _seat_ was heated.

 _Talk about living in luxury._

Max nestled under the jacket, smelling Mr. Jefferson's cologne on it. Normally, it filled her with a sense of serenity. This time, though, she merely felt dread. She wasn't supposed to be here. He should be preoccupied with Victoria right now. Staring at her feet, she slumped back into the seat and felt the heat starting to sink into her bones. As soon as Mr. Jefferson sat in his seat, Max placed the jacket back on his lap. Mr. Jefferson stared at it a moment before tossing it into the back seat.

Starting up the car, he headed down the road. "I have to ask this, but… is everything alright?"

 _No, obviously, everything isn't alright._

"I just fell asleep by accident," Max explained, her voice barely audible over the engine. She fumbled with her phone, finding that it had been blown up with texts and calls. There were eight texts from Warren, one from Dana, two from Kate, and several missed calls from the school. Nothing from her parents, though.

 _Thank God._

Principal Wells probably thought it was best not to start a panic with the parents if it could be avoided. For the first time, she appreciated his determination to maintain the school's reputation.

Mr. Jefferson replied, "Principal Wells told me you had tea with Kate. She said she left before you. Did she say something to you?"

"No, Kate didn't do anything wrong," Max replied, her voice a bit stronger this time. She typed out a quick "I'm alive" text to Warren to stop any further onslaught.

Sighing, Mr. Jefferson pressed, "Max, I just want to help you."

"There's nothing to help," Max all but snapped back. Why did he have to keep up this charade? Wasn't it enough to pick her up and bring her back to school? That alone would make him an "everyday hero" in the eyes of the administration. And enough to probably make Victoria upset with him. "Like I said, I fell asleep by accident. I was just chilling, listening to my music. Then I was zonked."

"Zonked?" Mr. Jefferson echoed.

"Asleep," Max clarified.

Shaking his head, Mr. Jefferson chuckled. "And here I thought I was still trendy and hip."

 _You are._

But Max couldn't say that. Or, to be more accurate, she wouldn't. She just wanted to be out of his car already, feeling suffocated. Luckily, she could see Blackwell Academy in the distance. "Does Principal Wells know you found me?"

"No. Principal Wells doesn't do text messaging, so I figured I would give him a call once you were back in your room," Mr. Jefferson informed her. He turned into the parking lot. "Max, you should take a warm shower once you get in. Not a hot shower because that might send your body into shock. But you need to warm up your core. I'm worried-"

"I get it," Max cut in. Every word he said was like another slice into her heart. She couldn't contain her pain, tears prickling her eyes again. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? "Mr. Jefferson, no offense, but you're not my dad."

"I am aware that I am not. But that doesn't mean I cannot care about your wellbeing," Mr. Jefferson pressed. He reached towards her before pulling back just before he touched her again. Max recalled the last time he did that. "Max, _talk to me_."

Max stared out of the front windshield as the car came to a halt. "I think enough's been said." With that, she burst from the car. She felt her jacket snag on something for but a moment, but she slipped away without any issue. Closing the door behind her, she hurried across the parking lot. The cold air immediately assaulted her again as she started to jog. Principal Wells' house lights were on. Hopefully, Mr. Jefferson was calling him to let him know that Max was safe.

Bustling into the dormitory, Max headed up the stairs. She was going to take that warm shower, if only because it would ensure she would be left alone just a while longer. As she trekked down the hall, she noticed Kate's board was defaced with the words: "World Tongue Record Holder!" Max took a moment, erasing it with her jacket sleeve, and drew a heart in its place.

And for a moment, Max didn't feel entirely hopeless when it came to being a friend.


	16. Pulchritudinous

"Photography is power," Mr. Jefferson stated, leaning back against Daniel's desk. Max kept her eyes on her notebook, writing down that sentence as one of her notes. "Sontag was a large proponent of this thought. She believed photographs made us feel knowledgeable and powerful. Can any of you think of a real life situation that this reflects?"

Silence descended upon the room. Max could feel Mr. Jefferson's eyes burning into her. Even so, she did not look up.

"Video of someone's real taste?" Victoria offered, her voice smug. Taylor laughed loudly, obnoxiously, in reply. Out of the corner of her eye, Max could see Kate flinch. She was just as curled up as Max was.

Mr. Jefferson frowned. "Keep it appropriate, Miss Chase."

"Evidence in a courtroom," Stella said, pushing her glasses up a touch.

"Very good, Stella," Mr. Jefferson praised. Stella grinned and sat up a bit straighter. Max could certainly remember when she reacted like that. "In Sontag's opinion, though, photographers aren't recording the world. Instead, they are capturing an interpretation of the world. This is why photographers will take multiple shots of the same subject. Because they only want to select ones that meet their preconceptions."

Max wrote down a few more notes as he spoke. To her left, Victoria crossed her legs before raising a hand. "Isn't it also true that Sontag believed that we are becoming too obsessed with capturing life?"

"That's correct," Mr. Jefferson responded. Max waited for the praise that usually followed, but he merely continued, "She believed that photography ruined our experience of life. In her own words, 'To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them they can never have. It turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed. In these last decades, "concerned" photography has done at least as much to deaden our conscience as to arouse it.' Thoughts?"

Victoria straightened up and opened her mouth.

"Not you, Miss Chase. How about we hear from someone who hasn't spoken yet?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, holding up a hand towards Victoria to silence her. Max closed her eyes a moment, knowing what would happen next. "Max. Do you agree with Sontag's interpretation of the effect photography is having upon our world?"

Max hesitantly lifted her eyes from her notes. "Not entirely."

"Oh?" Mr. Jefferson coaxed.

Max glanced around the room. Already, Victoria was glaring daggers at her. "I believe that some moments are important to capture. I usually focus on-"

"We already know all about your selfies," Victoria cut in.

Giggling, Taylor noted, "Get the burn cream."

Max averted her eyes. This was why she wished Mr. Jefferson would just forget all about her now that he had Victoria. She was obviously the jealous type. But then again, she also understood why Mr. Jefferson had to call on everyone. If he gave Victoria special attention in the classroom, rumors might spread.

"Max, please finish your thought," Mr. Jefferson encouraged, standing up. He took a few deliberate steps towards her desk, causing Max to look up at him. Behind his glasses, his eyes burned with determination. He was going to give her the room to speak.

"I enjoy capturing everyday life," Max replied. The faster she got her opinion out, the better it would be. "Which most people don't pay attention to. But our lives are more about the little moments than they are about the big events. I think for that, photography helps. If we're just talking about the big events then photography can get in the way, because you cannot make a memory for yourself without the camera lens being in the way."

"Eloquently put, Max," Mr. Jefferson acknowledged. With that, he turned and began to pace between the desks. His eyes started to flicker from student to student. "Photography for us is a passion. A profession. But we cannot allow it to become an obsession. Because the moment that that happens, we start to lose ourselves. And if there isn't a human element to the photos, there's an inevitable lack."

Max felt her breath leave her when his eyes landed on her again. His gaze was practically smoldering, with only his glasses as a filter. Just as quickly, he broke the eye contact. Max dropped her gaze back to her notebook. Jotting down a few more notes, she willed for the class to be over.

 _There was a time when you enjoyed this class, you know._

That felt like it was an eon ago, though. Strange how sometimes time seemed to crawl and other times it flew.

"Personally, I do believe photography has power. I believe that some photos harness the essence of someone," Mr. Jefferson stated. "Whether they believe it or not. Whether they acknowledge it or not. Photographs can show someone for who they really are. But that is just as true of the photographer as it is for the model. Sometimes more so."

The bell rang. Max snapped her notebook shut and immediately shoved it into the bag.

"Don't forget to read the next chapter for Monday. And I still need more entries for the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest. Remember, this is a great opportunity for you all as artists!" Mr. Jefferson announced, heading up towards his desk.

Max shoved her notebook into her bag before snatching up her pencil bag and camera. She could put those away later. Getting up, she shouldered her bag and made a break for the door. Victoria stepped in front of her suddenly. Max tripped over Victoria's leg, staggering forward and catching herself on a desk. It slid across the floor before crashing into the wall. Although Max kept a firm grip on her camera, she lost her pencil bag, which went flying. Her pens, pencils, and markers scattered across the floor.

"Excuse you," Victoria sneered, sticking a hand on her hip.

Checking her camera, Max was relieved to see that it hadn't been damaged. She carefully tucked it into her bag before snatching up her pencil case. She couldn't believe she still had this pencil case. But it had sentimental value to it, despite the fact that she should probably have upgraded to the 21st century before coming to Blackwell. Then again, she had never been one for the latest and greatest.

Max went to grab the one closest to her to find another hand reaching for it as well. Retracting her hand, she looked up to see Mr. Jefferson. "No, Victoria, excuse you," he stated, his voice turning hard. He collected each item, leaving Max shocked in his wake. When he had everything, he walked over and gently eased them into Max's open pencil bag. "I'm afraid I don't have time today to talk. I already have a meeting."

Victoria balled her fists before storming out of the room. It was one of the first times Max had ever seen her lose her composure in front of Mr. Jefferson. Coming to her senses, she managed to say, "Thank you. For helping me." She then started to leave.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grasp her arm. It was a firm hold, but gentle in its nature. "Max, we need to talk."

Max felt her heart stop.

 _Did Victoria tell him that she told me about them?_

"Uh… right now?" Max clarified, her uncertainty reflecting in her tone.

"Yes. Right now. My meeting is with you, and we both know you have nowhere to be anyway," Mr. Jefferson informed her.

It was true. Thursdays meant that Mr. Jefferson's class was her last one. Shuffling her feet, she finally replied, "Um… okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Not here. Let's go to my office," Mr. Jefferson said.

Max nodded before stepping out of the classroom. Samuel was already mopping the halls, starting down by the gym. However, all the other students were basically fleeing from the building. Max couldn't blame them. Outside of the study groups, no one _liked_ staying here longer than necessary.

Mr. Jefferson led the way, unlocking his office door to allow Max in. She stepped inside, and he closed the door behind him. When she heard the lock, though, her heart raced. Spinning on her heels, she stared at him. He stood directly in front of the door, his head lowered and his eyes locked upon her.

"Wh-what are you-?" she started to ask.

"We're not leaving this room until we solve whatever is going on. The longer you play dumb, the longer it will take," Mr. Jefferson replied, his voice solemn. "So talk to me. What is going on with you?"

Trapped, Max took a step back. The distance between them certainly felt better, but it didn't amount to any freedom. "Why do you keep pushing the subject?" she inquired.

"Because I care," Mr. Jefferson snapped back. "Because I want to understand. And believe me, Max, there are few people who I genuinely _want_ to understand."

Max hesitated. Victoria hadn't told him then. Honestly, she wasn't certain if she was relieved or upset.

"Is it about the lawsuit?" Mr. Jefferson pressed. He had leaned forward a touch to level himself more with Max's height. "Because we can drop the case if that's what's causing you this much distress."

"No, it's not about that at all," Max responded. Quite frankly, she had completely forgotten about the case.

Mr. Jefferson sighed with exasperation. "Then _what is it_?" His presence was overbearing - overwhelming - engulfing. Max picked up the scent of his cologne and shuddered.

"It's you and Victoria!" Max exclaimed before she could think her words through. Clasping a hand over her mouth, she gasped. Her eyes were wide with shock at her own stupidity. Now he knew that she knew and that Victoria told her. " _Don't_ tell Victoria that I told you."

"Told me what? What does Victoria have to do with any of this?" Mr. Jefferson asked, his brow contorting with confusion.

Max hesitated as she tried to find the right words. "Victoria told me about your relationship," she explained.

"Victoria and I are not in a relationship," Mr. Jefferson stated, frowning.

"Mr. Jefferson, it's not cool that you demand for me to be honest but then lie yourself. I _heard_ it, okay? Victoria played me a recording she took after giving you… after s-sucking your…" Her face flushed as her courage failed her each time she wanted to explain what they had been doing. "And you told her that she was 'talented' and that you could give her some 'tips after school' on how to improve her 'technique.' I heard her call you _Mark_."

Mr. Jefferson barked out a laugh. Wounded, Max flinched away. "That conversation wasn't about a blow job, Max. She was showing me one of the photographs she wanted to send off to be displayed in a studio. Although her vision was good, she was still lacking some technique, so I showed her some examples of what she should be shooting for after school. No pun intended."

"But she called you by your first name," Max pressed.

"Yes, and I asked her to not right afterwards."

Max could feel her thoughts beginning to coalesce. "But Victoria is… intelligent. And beautiful. And she's super in love with you. N-no one would blame you if you did-"

Suddenly, Mr. Jefferson stood straight and took a step forward. Max felt her words die in her mouth and took a step back in response. Another step forward met with another step back. A few steps later, and Max bumped back into the shelves. She glanced back as her brain processed it.

"You listen to me, Max Caulfield," he growled, as he continued to approach her. "I would _never_ lay a hand on someone like Victoria. She repulses me in every way as a woman. Desperate. Needy. Two-faced. She wants me for the fame and glory I can help her achieve. Nothing more. Do you think that I am so blind as to not see that?"

"N-no, I just… I thought that she had…" Max tried to explain, unable to voice her thoughts as she noticed he was a few steps away.

Mr. Jefferson continued, "I'm disappointed that you believed her. I thought you knew me better than that."

Their chests touched. He loomed overhead. Immediately, Max was overwhelmed by his scent. She trembled ever so slightly, her heart bouncing about like a rabbit. They had never been this close before. Never this intimate. It made her thoughts go fuzzy.

"I-I-I never had a reason to believe differently," Max pointed out, her voice becoming more desperate.

"No reason?" Mr. Jefferson replied, staring at her in half-amazement and half-annoyance. "For fuck's sake, Max, do I have to say it for you to get it?"

Max went to respond when her mouth was covered. A scruffy beard tickled her face. Slowly, a hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her in closer. She could feel something hot and wet slip across her lips.

 _A tongue._

Her brain was certainly slow at catching up.

 _Mr. Jefferson's kissing you._

With that, Max gasped. His tongue slipped into her mouth, dominating her. Her hands flailed, landing onto his suit jacket. Gripping the lapels, she tugged on them, trying to pull him closer. Catching the hint, Mr. Jefferson then locked his other hand on the back of her head. She could feel him exploring every inch of her mouth, as if mapping it out. She felt completely owned by him, a sensation that she had always wanted to have. It left her aroused in a way she had never been before. And then, just when she was starting to become light-headed, he pulled back.

Max sucked in her first gulp of air. Mr. Jefferson smirked, his hand sliding from the back of her head to cup her cheek. Leaning into the touch, Max stared up at him. Her brain was still trying to process what had just happened. She searched his eyes for any sort of explanation. But she was only met with an unwavering gaze.

"Y-you-" she stammered, blinking.

"Look at the shutter of your eyes. You're trying to capture this moment in your mind's eye forever, aren't you?" Mr. Jefferson responded, his voice husky, before smiling. "Don't be scared, Max. I am not going anywhere."

Max touched the back of his hand, feeling his smooth skin underneath her own. "Why? Why me?" she breathed out. She still couldn't believe it. Honestly, she was still trying to process the fact that Victoria had lied to her. But it was just like Victoria to pull one over her in order to gain the advantage.

 _And you fell for it hook, line, and sinker._

"Because you've captivated me," Mr. Jefferson informed her, tilting her face up to look at him. She felt pinned down by his searing gaze, which sent a shiver down her spine. "You can't even see how remarkable you are. You're too caught up in your own insecurities that you won't even listen to me. But you're a future star, Max. You have a fever for taking pictures and capturing this world in your own vision. And your vision is so pure and instantaneous. Just as you are."

Cheeks heating, Max trembled slightly. He noticed her. He _saw_ her. It was what she had hoped for but never expected. Suddenly, she felt her throat tighten. She still had questions buzzing about her mind. "B-but that doesn't explain why you kissed me."

"I probably shouldn't have," Mr. Jefferson admitted, making Max's heart sink. "Now, don't look at me like that. I do not regret my actions. It's just that there are certainly better ways to broach this subject."

Max let out a breathy laugh. "W-well, I didn't mind…"

"Joking aside," Mr. Jefferson continued, "you didn't pursue me. You didn't attempt to blackmail me despite several opportunities to do so. You didn't attempt to leverage my name. You simply enjoyed being around me, and I certainly enjoyed being around you. Before I knew it, I found myself wanting to spend more time with you. And becoming jealous of that boy always hanging on you." With that, he laughed in an almost bitter manner. "Max, I cannot tell you the last time I was _jealous_. It's been so long now."

Heart fluttering, Max instinctively tugged on Mr. Jefferson's lapels again. She wanted another confirmation that she wasn't just dreaming. With a smile, he leaned down and kissed her again. This time, it was chaste, but Max was still getting used to the feeling of scruff against her skin. It felt rough but it reminded her that she was kissing a man instead of a boy. After a moment, he pulled back completely. Max felt the loss.

"Wowsers," Max breathed out before swallowing hard.

"Even after everything I've said, you still don't understand, do you?" Mr. Jefferson asked, a smile still playing on his lips. Max felt her embarrassment flare. "That's alright. Eventually, I'll convince you. And we have all the time in the world."

Max felt relief bubble out of her. Mr. Jefferson felt the same way that she did. All of that anxiety and pain and insecurity had been for nothing. But then the reality of the situation began to sank in. Averting her eyes, Max felt the weight of the situation settle upon her chest. "So… now what?"

"That depends on what you want," Mr. Jefferson replied, his voice remaining level. "Is this- Frankly speaking, Max, do you want to pursue a relationship past this year at Blackwell?"

Stunned, Max felt her mind reel. Was this some sort of test? "Yes, I do," she answered. Anxiety gnawed at the back of her mind. "Is… is that a bad thing?"

"No, Max, it's not a bad thing at all," Mr. Jefferson replied. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued, "Actually, it's a relief. If that's how you feel then I will inform Blackwell Academy that I do not intend to renew my contract after this year."

"Wh-what?"

"A long distance relationship is, in my experience, the kiss of death. And if we're going to be in a relationship, I will want to support you as you step into the spotlight of the art world. As well as want to guide you through the obstacles and pitfalls," Mr. Jefferson said matter-of-factly.

 _He makes it sound so natural._

Max averted her eyes as she tried to process what he was saying. Honestly, she couldn't believe that he was already considering actions for a future with them together. "Do you… do you really think I'm worth it? Worth quitting your job for?"

"I was already considering quitting this job," Mr. Jefferson answered, his voice dropping a bit as he spoke. "One of the reasons being the response to your accident. This would just be the final proverbial straw. No reason to stay here if my girlfriend has to move for her career."

 _He just called me his girlfriend._

The thought still boggled Max's mind. Mr. Jefferson was viewing their relationship as a long-lasting one. Honestly, his faith in it alone made her feel as though nothing could stop them. Not age or society or academic hierarchy. In the end, that would all just melt away to leave her and the person she had fallen for.

"W-we would have to wait, wouldn't we?" she finally inquired.

A sad smile flickered across his features. "I'm afraid that would be best," he said softly before hefting out a heavy sigh. "A relationship between a teacher and student is illegal, even with the fact that you're a legal adult. We won't be able to be together until you graduate in May."

"That's seven months away," Max pointed out, her tone more exasperated than she intended. She fiddled with the strap to her bag nervously.

"What's seven months in a relationship that lasts years, Max?" Mr. Jefferson reasoned, reaching out and lifting her chin up. "It's a mere blip in the span of time. And it will help us in the long run. No one will be able to say that I was taking advantage of you or you were seeking favoritism in class. We were just two people who were brought together by a mutual passion for photography."

Max carefully removed his hand from her face. This hurt more than thinking he was dating Victoria. Because now she knew that he was interested in her but they couldn't be together. Tears prickled as she felt anxiety clutch her throat. "But what if you don't… w-what if when May comes, you aren't interested in me anymore?" she pressed.

"I can assure you that's not going to happen, Max," Mr. Jefferson responded. He then sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it as he thought. "If this is something you want to pursue before then, Max, we can. But we would have to be incredibly careful when meeting up outside of school. My reputation is on the line."

Grimacing, Max shook her head. She didn't want him to have to take unnecessary risks. But she also didn't want to wait seven months to be with him. Not when their first kiss felt _that_ good. "A… a compromise?" she whispered, worried of his response.

"What do you propose?" Mr. Jefferson responded, tilting his head ever so slightly. His eyes never wavered from her face.

"One date a month," Max suggested, examining his expression for any tell. Unfortunately, he remained stoic. "It's nothing that should draw any attention. But that would at least give us some time together."

Mr. Jefferson hummed, considering her terms for what felt like an hour. "I think we can manage that," he finally conceded.

Relief engulfed her. Max let out an excited laugh before clasping her hand over her mouth to smother it. Even if it wasn't much, it was _something_. And it meant that she, not Victoria, was dating Mr. Jefferson. She still couldn't believe that he had chosen _her_ , of all people. But he had. And Max couldn't have been any happier in that moment.


	17. Recumbentibus

It was shocking how much one conversation could change everything. Max felt lighter when she got up in the mornings. And despite her concerns otherwise, she didn't have any issue returning back to her usual participation pattern. Victoria still leapt at any chance to kiss Mr. Jefferson's ass or try to impress him. But now, Max wasn't concerned. Although she might not have known it, Victoria had lost.

It wasn't easy, though. Max couldn't lie. Sometimes, she couldn't look at Mr. Jefferson without remembering the kiss. It made her cheeks burn red and forced her to avert her eyes. It also left her a little nervous whenever she was around Mr. Jefferson. Not that that was unusual, but she worried if it would make her feelings too apparent. But, whether luckily or not, all the students were still too preoccupied with Kate's video to pay any attention to Max.

Max worried for Kate. Honestly, she looked like she was in full zombie mode. She had become far more introverted and quiet, even in classes she loved. Max couldn't remember the last time she saw her smile or laugh, and she knew that her abstinence campaign had been met with teasing and sneers. On the one hand, Max could understand why. Everyone at Blackwell was a senior, about to step out into the world, and if they wanted to have sex, that was their choice to make. They weren't about to let anyone make them feel bad about it or act as if they were their parents. But Max also knew that that wasn't what Kate was shooting for, and she certainly didn't deserve the ridicule.

After their failed tea date, Max hadn't really hung out with Kate. She still chilled with Dana now and again, although Dana distanced herself from almost everyone for a few days. She also stopped hanging out with the football players and Vortex Club as much. Instead, she was seen more around Justin, Trevor and the other skaters. Max had never really associated with them. But if Dana thought they were cool then there must be something that Max was missing.

Max sat in Mr. Jefferson's class and finished drawing one last doodle as she listened to him lecture. "Alfred Hitchcock famously called film 'little pieces of time,' but he could be talking about photography, as he likely was. These pieces of time can frame us in our glory and our sorrow. From light to shadow. From color to chiaroscuro."

Max heard something crumble. Looking up, she watched a paper ball fly across the room and hit Kate in the face. Kate recoiled slightly, turning away. Concerned, Max watched her carefully for a moment. However, Kate merely kept her eyes cast to the ground.

"Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition in black and white?" Mr. Jefferson continued, his voice bringing Max back to the lecture.

Victoria's phone vibrated. Unlike other teachers, Mr. Jefferson didn't care if smartphones were out so long as they weren't used. It was just another reason he was supercool. Ignoring it, Victoria declared, "Diane Arbus."

"There you go, Victoria! Why Arbus?" Mr. Jefferson pressed, turning all of his attention towards her.

Sitting up straighter, Victoria smiled smugly. She always became overly satisfied whenever Mr. Jefferson even batted an eye towards her. "Because of her images of hopeless faces. You feel, like, totally haunted by the eyes of those sad mothers and children," she replied, ending her comment with a sympathetic frown.

"She saw humanity as tortured, right? And frankly, it's bullshit." That caused a bit of a stir in the classroom, and Max felt her own eyes widen. Even now, no one was used to hearing a teacher cuss. Mr. Jefferson brought a finger to his lips. "Shh, keep that to yourself." Rising to his feet, he started to pace about, his gaze flickering from one student to another. His gaze lingered on Max a moment longer than the others. "Seriously, though, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner and capture you in a moment of desperation. And any one of you could do that to me. Isn't that too easy? Too obvious? What if Arbus chose to capture people at the height of their beauty and innocence? She had a brilliant eye, so she could have taken another approach."

Max smiled. It seemed that Mr. Jefferson had taken her recommendation. Although it wasn't quite what she had expected, he was getting closer to talking about himself and his own reasons for photography. In the corner of her eye, Max could see Victoria shift uncomfortably. She knew her well enough to know what was coming next. Victoria couldn't stand not having a similar opinion to Mr. Jefferson. It was as if she worried it meant he would like her less. However, Max was pretty certain that wasn't possible. "I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of her work. I prefer…" Her hesitation gave her intentions away. "...Robert Frank."

Max resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She grabbed her camera instead. As she looked at it, she couldn't help but think that this would be a good moment to capture. A new Max, confident in her love life. For once. Lowering it, she angled it to get a sly selfie of herself. The flash popped up, causing spots in her eyes as she looked away. The room stirred. Obviously, they had not forgotten what happened the last time Max took a picture during a lecture.

"Shhh, I believe Max has taken what you kids call a 'selfie.' A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Max… has a gift," Mr. Jefferson noted, a smile tugging at his lips. Max felt her heart race as the full force of his gaze landed on her. Burning, his eyes seared through her. Then he broke it just as quickly. "Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for selfie-expression."

Max tried to hide her grimacing smile.

Mr. Jefferson hesitated a moment, clearly reconsidering his statement. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. The point remains that portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now, Max, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?"

Max felt every gaze but one shift to her. Hayden was still invested in his class time nap. Nervous, Max thought back to the reading that she had done the night before. She really had thrown herself into her studies now that she could focus on it.

"Um… The Daguerreian Process. Invented by a French painter named… Louis Daguerre. Around 1830," she answered uncertainly. Max wasn't exactly an academic star, after all, and she always tripped over those French names.

"Someone has been reading as well as posing. Nice work, Max."

Victoria glared at Max in annoyance. Max already knew that this was going to come back to bite her. In the end, Victoria always had a way of "getting even" with whoever she felt slighted her. Max paid her no heed. No matter how bitter she got, she couldn't do anything about Max's newfound confidence. And whatever she came up with, Max would take with stride.

"The Daguerreian Process made portraiture hugely popular, mainly because it gave the subjects clear, defined features. You can learn more when you actually finish reading the assigned chapters. Max is, so far, way ahead of everybody," Mr. Jefferson praised.

The bell rang, ending class. Hiding her pleasure, Max began to collect her items, keeping her head down.

Mr. Jefferson began to talk faster as he watched his students all start to rise. "And guys, don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ Contest! I will fly out with the winner to San Francisco, where you'll be feted by the art world. It's great exposure, and it can kickstart a career in photography. So Stella and Alyssa, get it together. Taylor, don't hide. I'm still waiting for your entry, too. And yes, Max, I can see you pretending not to see me."

 _Mr. Jefferson's a natural._

Victoria was approaching his desk, already seeking attention. Max replayed Mr. Jefferson's words in her mind. She had a _gift_. And clearly, he wanted her to submit her photo for the contest. She plucked her photograph from her journal, where she had kept it hidden for quite some time. Everything else, she tucked away.

Max looked over to see Kate still in her chair, dejectedly staring at the floor. Max's heart went out to her again. No one deserved to be bullied, but especially not someone as angelic as Kate. Walking over, Max wondered if Kate would react poorly to her nosiness again. "Hi, Kate."

Glossy eyes slowly came into focus as Kate turned her head. "Oh, hi, Max," she replied, her voice more monotonous than ever. She clearly hadn't been paying attention.

"You seem… quiet today," Max noted, trying to tread lightly with her words. It was hard to gauge Kate's reaction.

Kate looked away, staring off into space. "Just thinking too much…"

Concern flaring, Max said, "I hear that. W-would you want to go grab a cup o' tea and bitch about life?"

"Thanks, but not today. I have to go over homework," Kate dismissed. She blinked and looked up at Max again. It seemed the circles under her eyes were darker than before.

Max figured that would be her response, but she wasn't about to give up on her friend. "No worries. Let's hang later."

"Sure," Kate said, her voice conveying she had no intention of following that up.

 _That's fine because I will._

Max turned away, leaving her alone. If she wanted to talk about the video, she would in her own time. Until then, though, Max would just have to keep extending her hand, no matter how many times it was slapped away. Because she knew, whether Kate wanted to admit it or not, that Kate needed someone to be unconditionally on her side right now.

 _I hope her family is giving her that, at least._

Probably a far-fetched idea, given the fact that her father was a preacher. But maybe her sisters or mother were showing her the love and support that she deserved. Max certainly hoped so.

"I just really think _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ is an important cultural event, and I want to represent Blackwell Academy!" Victoria insisted, her voice splicing through Max's eardrums.

 _Does she ever not suck up to him?_

"You have by just participating. By putting yourself out there in the world. And no matter who wins, this is just a bump on a bigger road. I don't want anybody to feel excluded from this process. But I also want everybody to know that this photographic world is not for everybody. I had my moment in the camera eye, and everybody should have that chance, right?" Mr. Jefferson explained. Truly, his patience with her could be likened to a saint. Max didn't know how he still managed to be so civil.

"Oh, totally! I only want to share whatever gifts I have with the world-!" Victoria started.

Stopping a foot away, Max softly called out, "Excuse me, Mr. Jefferson? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yes, excuse you," Victoria sneered, standing up straight. Her lip curled in slight disgust. Since Max got her confidence back, Victoria had gone back to being the Blackwell Bitch she had always been. And her judgement of Max was starting to become a public spectacle.

Mr. Jefferson raised an eyebrow in displeasure. "No, Victoria, excuse us. I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture."

Max hid her smile. He certainly hadn't needed to say all that, but it made her feel good that he did. Huffing, Victoria turned around and shot Max one last dirty look before walking away. Max shuffled her feet. Now that Victoria was gone, Max's nerves were starting to get the best of her. She could feel her heart racing up to her throat. What if it wasn't good enough? What if he rejected her photograph? What other idea could she possibly have?

Before she lost too much gumption, she held out her photograph. "Here's my entry for the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest."

Mr. Jefferson took the photograph gingerly, as though it were a snowball ready to crumble. Clearly, he had been taken off-guard by the fact Max was actually turning in a photograph. "Well, I, uh, I can't pre-judge yet, but I am very happy you decided to enter. It means a lot to me…" Glancing around the room, he found Kate still there. "... and Blackwell! The first step for any artist is to put themselves out there in the world without fear." Then, in a lower tone, he added, "I'm proud of you, Max."

Max nodded in acknowledgement before taking a step back. She didn't really have anything else to say. Or, at least, she didn't with Kate still loitering about. And perhaps Kate was waiting for some alone time with Mr. Jefferson to talk to him about whatever was on her mind. Max certainly hoped so. After all, Kate needed _someone_ to lean on. Mr. Jefferson wasn't a bad choice, given how understanding he could be.

Stepping outside the classroom, Max let out a breath. She still couldn't believe she had done it. She had actually turned in her selfie for the contest! Part of her was thrilled. Her heart was still pounding. However, the other part of her was still uneasy. But Mr. Jefferson seemed to genuinely like it. And he was even _proud_ of her. It made her feel like she was in a dream.

 _I need a serious time out in the bathroom to collect myself._

Max headed down the hall, filtering past Juliet and her boyfriend and Daniel and his bullies. She caught a glimpse of Brooke playing some video game, obviously annoyed by it. And then there was Dana and Justin. Dana was laughing at something he said. She noticed Samuel had already started up with his mopping. He was mumbling to himself as he normally did. Although most of the students found him creepy, Max just knew he was misunderstood. They never talked to him. Max had found some time here and there, whenever she caught him feeding the squirrels. Frankly, he seemed the lonely type. But he was also an animal lover, which let Max know that he was a good person.

Max passed by the vending machines, feeling a small pang of hunger as she did so. Lunch that day hadn't stayed in her system at all. As Warren noted, she hadn't had enough "protein." She would have to check to see if she had enough change to buy something later. Heading into the bathroom, Max pushed open the door and noticed all the stalls were open.

 _Empty. Good._

Walking to her favorite sink, which had a doodle of a mustache and glasses on it, Max turned the water on. She took a cleansing breath before rinsing her face. Then she stared at herself a moment as the water dripped down her face. Had she really made the right decision? Or should she have gone out of her comfort zone more? Found a true "everyday hero" like Kate did?

 _Just relax. Stop torturing yourself. You have "a gift."_

Max walked over to the towels and grabbed one before drying her face off. She was careful to be mindful around her makeup, not wanting to smear it. After pitching the towel, she went to leave. A flutter caught her attention in her peripheral vision. Turning, Max watched as a butterfly fluttered in and behind the stalls. She tilted her head as she walked towards it.

Turning the corner, she found the butterfly had landed perfectly on the rim of a bucket. She stopped where she was not, wanting to scare it away. Then slowly, she reached for her camera. After all, photo ops like this didn't happen everyday. She took a step closer, lowering the camera to get a better snap. The flash popped, spooking the butterfly, but she had her photo. Standing up, she noticed it landed on the sink. Then the bathroom door opened.

"It's cool, Nathan. Don't stress. You're okay, bro. Just count to three. Don't be scared. You know this school. If I wanted to, I could blow it up. You're the boss!"

Max startled. What was Nathan Prescott doing in the girls' bathroom? And what was he so paranoid about? Taking a step back, Max hid her feet behind the bucket. It would be best if she remained hidden until he left.

The door opened again. Max hoped it was Victoria, there to convince Nathan to leave.

"So what do you want?" Nathan snapped, his feet squeaking on the clean tiles.

 _Definitely not Victoria then._

A vaguely familiar voice replied, "I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step ass would say." Max could hear the sound of stall doors being opened. Holding her breath, she waited for the girl to find her. However, she stopped halfway down. "Now, let's talk bidness."

"I got nothing for you," Nathan stated, his tone cold. He was standing his ground. Max imagined that he probably dealt with this type of problem all the time, given what he was into.

The girl scoffed. "Wrong. You got hella cash."

"That's my _family_ , not me," Nathan snapped back, sounding remarkably annoyed. Max thought it was strange, how he differentiated his family's money from his own. Most rich kids she knew had the "what's yours is mine" mentality.

"Oh, boo hoo. Poor little rich kid," the girl mocked. Her voice sounded more and more familiar. Max wondered if she had met her at orientation. "I know you been pumpin' drugs 'n shit to kids around here. I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them. Man, I can see the headlines now!"

Max had to admit, this girl had the more audacity than most to threaten Nathan Prescott. She wondered why they couldn't have met earlier. Certainly, Max would have loved to have been her friend. She would have put Nathan in his place whenever he gave Max a hard time.

"Leave them out of this, bitch," Nathan snarled, stamping one foot on the ground.

"I can tell everybody Nathan Prescott is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself!" she continued, her voice getting louder. If anyone was outside the bathroom, no doubt they would have heard that.

Suddenly, a commotion followed with a scuffle. Nathan yelled, "You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're messing around with!"

"Where'd you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!" the girl abruptly pleaded. Her voice had lost all of its previous edginess.

 _Something's wrong._

With that, Max dared to peek around the corner. Nathan was brandishing a pistol. Max tasted her own fear in her mouth.

"Don't _ever_ tell me what to do. I'm so _sick_ of people trying to control me!" Nathan exclaimed, waving the gun around slightly. He was clearly unsteady with it, his aim dropping from her face to her chest in the matter of moments.

"You are going to get in hella more problems for this than drugs," the girl tried to reason. Nathan was blocking her face, and all Max could see was her anime-blue hair.

Shoving the gun into the girl's gut, Nathan jeered, "Nobody would ever miss your 'punk ass,' would they?"

"Get that gun away from me, psycho!" she screamed, struggling against him.

Just like that, the gun went off. The girl collapsed to the ground. Nathan staggered backwards, as if trying to process for himself what he had just done. Immediately, Max wanted to get out of sight. She stumbled over the bucket, though, causing it to clatter across the ground. As she watched it, willing it to come back, she felt a need to vomit rising.

"Who the fuck is there?" Nathan demanded, his voice cracking. His footsteps let her know that he was coming her way.

 _Oh, no. I'm not letting you kill me, too._

Adrenaline surged throughout her body as that thought registered. Max had already had her graze with death. Looking around, she found more cleaning supplies behind her. Nathan came into her field of vision with his gun arm out. Swiftly, Max grabbed it and yanked him as hard as she could before pushing him into the cleaning supplies. The large bucket fell over, scattering everything about upon him.

Max ran. She barely noticed the blunette as she leapt over her. She only knew that she _had_ to get more distance between her and Nathan Prescott. Or else he was going to catch her and kill her, too. She reached the door within seconds. Grasping the cold, metal doorknob, she pulled with all her might. The door gave with ease, but it hit the dead girl's body and stopped. There was just enough space for Max to slip out. As she slid through, she could hear Nathan's footsteps gaining behind her.

Running towards the exit, she instinctively glanced down the hallway to notice Mr. Jefferson walking her direction. She turned and started sprinting towards him. Tears starting to well in her eyes as everything hit her. "Mr. Jefferson!" she cried out, her panic pushing the pitch of her voice higher.

"What is it, Max? What happened?" Mr. Jefferson inquired. He was running towards her as he spoke.

"It's Nathan Prescott. He has a gun! He shot a girl in the girls' bathroom, and now he's coming after me, too!" Max explained, her words tumbling out so quickly that they almost became one. She stopped right in front of him, shaking.

Mr. Jefferson's eyes hardened, as though he was steeling himself. "Max, get Madsen. I'm going to see if I can calm Nathan down," he ordered.

"Mr. Jefferson, _no_. He'll shoot you-" Max tried to protest, grabbing Mr. Jefferson's arm.

"Max, do as I say!" he bellowed as he shook free from her. Then, as if he realized his reaction, he explained, "You're the only one I can count on. And we can't have Nathan fleeing the scene."

Sobered by those words, Max felt her own resolve harden. She turned and ran, her bag bouncing against her as she did so. She didn't care. Not about the dull ache it caused or the pain in her legs or the strain of her lungs. Mr. Jefferson was depending on her, and she had to stop Nathan from getting away with this. He _murdered_ someone. No amount of family money would make this go away.

 _It can't. Not as long as I'm alive._

Max took the stairs at a full dash, the toes of her shoes barely touching down lifting to reach the next. Mr. Madsen's office was on the second floor, a temporary arrangement as they finished setting up the last of the surveillance cameras. It allowed him to work undisturbed. Rushing up to Mr. Madsen's office, she banged on the door in a flurry. It opened, and he stared down at her in shock from the other side. "What is it, girl?"

"Mr. Madsen, you have to get to the girls' bathroom now. Nathan Prescott shot a girl, and now Mr. Jefferson's in there with him!" she told him, pulling him out by his arm. She couldn't wait for him to process what she was saying. They needed to move.

Just like that, Mr. Madsen began to run. He hit the door to the stairs with such force that it almost hit her face as she followed. He was faster than her, more fit, and his strides easily doubled her own. However, Max's adrenaline was still pumping. She could keep up, her shoes echoing in the nearly empty halls. As they ran, Mr. Madsen brought his phone up to his ear.

"Yes, I have an emergency at Blackwell Academy. A student's been shot on the first floor bathroom just inside the entrance. Send the police and a paramedic immediately," he shouted into his phone. He sounded surprisingly cool and assertive. Then again, this probably wasn't the first time he had dealt with gunfire and death.

As they neared the bathroom, Max started to naturally slow down. Her energy was wearing, the moment of adrenaline now gone from her system. Mr. Madsen continued to jog, undeterred by Max falling behind.

"Nathan, just give me the gun, and this'll all be over," Mr. Jefferson coaxed, his voice audible.

Relief flooded Max when she heard his voice. Her legs complained as she pushed forward. However, she could only process one thing.

 _Mr. Jefferson's still alive._

Nathan's voice broke as he replied, "You don't get it, Mr. Jefferson. I didn't _mean_ to shoot her!'

"But you did. Now you have to face the consequences of those actions," Mr. Jefferson explained, still keeping a soothing tone.

"No, don't come near me! I'll shoot!" Nathan suddenly screamed.

Something clattered, and another gunshot rang out. Max felt as though her heart was tearing in half. She staggered to a halt as David Madsen was reached the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the bathroom with his taser up. "Drop the weapon!" he shouted.

 _Too late._

Her eyes welled with tears, and she took a few steps back before sinking to the floor. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she folded her arms over them to hide her face. No one could see her like this. Not with her emotions hanging out on her sleeve like that. Her tears dotted the floor with her pain. Mr. Jefferson had depended on her. She had been the only one he thought he could rely upon. And she had failed him.

 _And you thought you were some fucking "Everyday Hero."_

The cruel irony nestled alongside her guilt. She made no noise as she cried, not wanting anyone to hear her misery. Not that anyone would understand anyway. How could they? And even if they had known, they would say that the relationship had been but a burst. They didn't understand. They _couldn't_.

"This isn't happening," Mr. Madsen said, his voice breaking. Max could hear the pain in his voice. He then howled, "You killed my wife's child, the sick fucker! You took away my step-daughter!"

"Mr. Madsen!" Principal Wells yelled.

Glancing up, Max watched as Principal Wells pushed his way into the bathroom. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Madsen cradling the punk girl in his arms. He held her head so that she faced him, and agony was etched over every feature. Truly, he had loved her, even if she wasn't his by birth.

"Mr. Madsen, there are two dead. We need to leave the scene as undisturbed as we can for the detectives," Principal Wells explained, placing a hand on Mr. Madsen's shoulder.

Max averted her eyes as the door shut. Her stomach churned, wanting to release its contents. As if it would help. At least Nathan wouldn't be able to get away with this. No money in the world would keep him out of jail. Not with Max taking the stand. And she would absolutely take the stand if that's what it took to see him behind bars. Tears streamed down her cheeks again.

"Max," Mr. Jefferson's voice called out.

 _Great, you must be losing your mind already._

"Max, I need you to try to collect yourself. The police are on their way. They'll want to question you." A hand ran through her hair, familiar in its soothing touch.

Eyes snapping up, Max found Mr. Jefferson in front of her. His face and shirt were splattered with red, his hair mussed, and his glasses were askew. However, when she searched for a wound, she couldn't see anything apparent. She blinked a few times before grasping his arms to make sure that he was there. Honestly, she was terrified he was just a figment of her imagination. But her fingers pressed into his warm flesh. Proof. Confused, he gripped hers back, his thumbs rubbing small, soothing circles into her forearms.

"I-I thought… I thought you were dead," Max breathed out, her voice breaking with pain. Her tears didn't cease, although they dropped now for a wholly different reason. "I thought Nathan killed you."

"Oh, Max, no, he didn't kill me, but..." Mr. Jefferson replied. His eyes cast downwards, and Max finally processed just what that _red splattering_ was. "I'm afraid I had to act in self-defense."

Principal Wells' words rang in her mind again.

 _Nathan Prescott's dead._

Max knew that she should feel good about this. Nathan had killed that girl and bullied plenty of others, including Max herself. But instead, seeing Mr. Jefferson covered in blood and having just witnessed a murder, Max felt remarkably _numb_. She mutely nodded before forcing herself up. Mr. Jefferson stood with her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Hugging herself, Max walked outside of the building to find police cars and flashing lights. Some officers were setting up barricades whilst others were forcing students back. Anyone who wasn't in the building wasn't allowed back inside. Max noticed some familiar faces, including Victoria, who looked horrified. It seemed like she wasn't taking the shot now. And Max, quite frankly, preferred it that way. She would rather not be captured in this shell-shocked state.

A couple of officers sprinted past them, their hands on their guns as they headed into the building. One young officer glanced at them before stopping. For a moment, he sized Mr. Jefferson up. He then stepped backwards and placed a hand out in front of Mr. Jefferson to stop him. When Max felt Mr. Jefferson's hand suddenly disappear, she halted as well. She glanced back, tensing when the officer stepped in between her and Mr. Jefferson.

"Sir, I need you to come with me," the officer stated.

Max panicked. She hadn't realized just how much she relied upon his presence to keep her calm. But them taking him away now made her feel as though she was drowning in a cascade of emotions. Shaking, she stared at Mr. Jefferson with wide eyes as she tried to voice her concern. Her tongue felt fat and flopped uselessly in her mouth.

"Shh, Max, it's alright," Mr. Jefferson soothed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed circles into it. The touch was grounding. "He has to take a statement from me. So breathe deep."

Coming to her senses, Max breathed deeply just as he said. "S-sorry," she murmured before taking a step back.

"Are you a witness as well?" the officer inquired. He had a concerned look in his eye. Max knew that he thought she was a kid. But a kid doesn't witness a murder, no matter their age.

She murmured, "Yes. I am."

"We'll need you to come down to the station to give a statement as well then," the officer responded. Waving a hand, he flagged down a female cop, who turned with the grace of a runway model. "Officer Kane will bring you in for questioning."

"I understand," Max murmured as the female blonde approached her.

"What's up, Wilcox?" she inquired once she was close enough.

Officer Wilcox motioned to Max. "She's a witness to the crime that took place here."

"Oh." With that, Officer Kane's expression changed as well. She wrapped a friendly arm around Max's shoulder. Max fought the urge to pull out of it. "Come on, dear."

Mindlessly, Max started down the stairs. She heard Officer Wilcox say, "Now, sir, I'm going to have to handcuff you as per safety protocol. Do you understand?"

Max wanted to turn and scream at him. To let them all know that Mr. Jefferson, of all people, did _not_ deserved to be handcuffed. But before she could do any of that, Mr. Jefferson stated, "Of course. Do whatever you must."

"What's your name, dear?" Officer Kane suddenly asked. Her hazel eyes practically wept with her sympathy for Max.

Max answered, "Max Caulfield."

"That's a pretty name, Max. Is it short for Maxine?"

"Yes, but I don't go by Maxine. Ever," Max informed her curtly. Her tone probably came off sharper than she intended, given the somewhat shocked expression on the officer's face. But Max knew she probably shouldn't make enemies with an officer. After all, it wasn't this woman's fault that all this happened. "I only get called Maxine when I'm in trouble. I prefer to keep it that way."

"I understand," Officer Kane stated before opening the back of her squad car. "Watch your head."

Ducking down, Max sat in the back seat and listened as the car door closed. She stared at the grated window in front of her, which blocked her from having direct access to the police officer. Silently, she scanned about. She had never been in the back of a squad car before. It was smaller than most cars, not that that was too much of an issue. Max herself was pretty small, so she still had legroom.

They drove without a word being exchanged. Max appreciated it. Even now, she was trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. Nathan Prescott had killed a girl. And then he tried to kill Mr. Jefferson. Only, he wound up losing his life instead. It had been quite the emotional rollercoaster. And Max still felt as though it hadn't quite stopped yet.


	18. Kuebiko

Max rubbed her eyes before sitting back in her creaky seat. By now, she wasn't sure how many hours she had been in there. Officer Kane had brought her in for her initial statement. Max had explained everything that she heard and saw transpire, from the moment Nathan walked in to the moment Officer Wilcox stopped them. As she spoke, Officer Kane asked a few clarifying questions as she wrote down notes. They finished after a few hours of probing and polishing. But then Officer Kane stepped out to print up the statement for Max to sign, and Max was left there waiting.

And waiting...

And waiting…

And all this waiting had left Max alone with her thoughts. She tried to push the images from her mind. The visual of that girl slumping to the floor, crumpled over. Max could still see the blood seeping from her chest, soaking the floor with her life. Her face had been covered in that brilliantly blue hair, the color of the sky. And then poor Mr. Madsen, all but sobbing over her body as he cradled her in his arms.

Max's thoughts muddled with her emotions. Reaching down into her bag, she brought out her phone. There were missed messages and calls, ranging from family to friends. Max had been allowed to call her parents to let them know she was safe, but she hadn't contacted anyone else. They could wait. However, Max had put this off for far too long, and she wasn't going to let her anxiety get in the way any longer. This was more important than her.

Opening up her text messages, she found Chloe's home number. She called it, and it rang through to voicemail. Max heard Joyce's sweet southern drawl on the other end and smiled. How she missed that voice. Once the answering machine clicked on, Max said, "Hey, it's Max… Uh, Max Caulfield. I'm calling for Chloe? I'm… back in town. Attending Blackwell, actually. So, if you want to reconnect, you should totally give me a call." She then carefully gave her number, making sure to say it twice so Chloe definitely could reach out if she wanted. Hanging up her phone, she stuffed it back into her bag.

The door opened, causing Max to jolt up in her chair. Officer Kane was walking back in with a man she didn't recognize. He was an older gentleman, round in the belly. His pepper-and-salt hair was colored by his experience, and hard lines defined both his eyes and mouth. Upon looking at Max, he softened his features, almost managing to liken himself to Santa Claus.

"Max, this is Detective Garrison," Officer Kane informed her, maintaining the same sweet tone she had used throughout the previous interview.

Detective Garrison flopped down into the chair across from her. "Max, I'm afraid we have a few more questions for you," he stated. He didn't seem sorry about it whatsoever. "Some new information has come up, and we need to make sure we cover all of our bases. I hope you understand."

"Yes, of course," Max replied, sounding far more open to the idea than she actually was.

Detective Garrison opened a yellow legal pad on the table, flipping through a few notes. "Now, Max, did you ever know or meet a girl by the name of Rachel Amber?"

 _What does she have to do with this?_

"No," Max responded, curiosity now piqued. She wished she had nosed around a bit more about Rachel than she had. "But her posters are all over Blackwell. Um, but she disappeared before I came back to Arcadia Bay, so I never knew her."

Leaning forward, Detective Garrison smacked his lips a few times. He was mulling something over, his eyes flickering back and forth with his thoughts. "And you didn't happen to hear any rumors about her?"

"From what I gathered, she just pretty much disappeared one day," Max responded. She tried to discern what he was thinking. After all, she hadn't been expecting this line of questioning. What did a missing girl have to do with this case, anyway? Then she added, "But I haven't exactly asked around. Other students who have been at Blackwell longer probably know more."

"So no one mentioned to you about any relation between her and Nathan Prescott?" Detective Garrison pushed, watching her every movement. He was trying to catch her in a lie, but there was none to snare her.

Shaking her head, Max replied, "No. Not at all. But it wouldn't surprise me if they did. Nathan Prescott makes - made himself pretty well-known around campus."

"What about his connection to Kate Marsh?" he inquired, folding his arms across his chest.

Max furrowed her brow, confused. Why was Kate's name now coming up? Were they trying to pin something on her? Max hoped not, because Kate could literally not hurt a fly, and Max would testify to it. "Well, I know that Kate recently went to a Vortex Club party," she offered.

"Vortex Club?" he echoed.

"Uh, yeah, it's this clique at school? You know, cool kids only?" Max replied, unsure how else to explain it. The Vortex Club was about the dumbest fixture at Blackwell Academy. But then again, with what happened with Nathan Prescott, they might just shut the Vortex Club down.

Detective Garrison started scrawling down notes. "And she went to one of these parties? Did she talk to you about it at all?"

"No, not really. But she's been really quiet and distant lately. I don't know what happened, but it was clearly not good. Why?" Max asked, trying to be a bit nonchalant with the question. She had noticed, though, how his writing was becoming a bit more frantic.

Calmly, Detective Garrison replied, "Some new information has come to light. But I can't discuss an ongoing investigation past a point."

 _So basically, you're telling me to stop asking questions and just answer yours._

Setting her jaw, Max folded her arms across her chest. She was tired of being kept in the dark. No matter what she asked, the answer was essentially the same: we can't say. And it had left her in this room alone for hours, not knowing what was going to happen to her or Mr. Jefferson. She didn't know if they were going to let her go tonight. Hell, she didn't even know what time it was. She really should have checked when she used her phone.

"One last question before we let you go, Max. Did you know of any connection between Nathan Prescott and the victim, Chloe Price?" Detective Garrison asked.

Max's face blanched. Her stomach churned as her mind replayed that name. "Wh-who was the victim?" she pressed, her voice sounding strained even to herself. There was no way she had heard that right. Chloe didn't even go to Blackwell Academy! Why would she be there?

"Chloe Price."

 _No, no, no, no, no. This cannot be happening._

"And you're certain it's her?" Max pressed as she tasted bile coating her tongue. She tried to swallow it back, but it simply lingered.

Nodding, Detective Garrison replied, "Her step-father confirmed it at the scene."

Max hurled forward. Just as she reached the bin, her stomach revolted. Retching, she felt as though her entire body was rioting against the news. Her eyes watered with the strain. Her stomach bucked again, and she gripped the rim of the basket harder, as if that would help ground her.

 _Chloe's dead._

Which meant that she had watched her best friend die. And she hadn't even known. Her heaves transformed into sobs. How could she not have realized? She had spoken differently, but it was still Chloe's voice. Max should have done something - _anything_ \- to save her. But what had she managed? She had stood in the back and hid like the coward she was.

"Did you know her, Max?" Officer Kane inquired.

Max felt a hand land on her back. Pulling away, she staggered to her feet and leaned against the wall for support. Quickly, she wiped away her tears. "Yes. She - she was my best friend."

"And you didn't realize it was her?" Detective Garrison noted, sounding skeptical.

Throat tightening, Max snapped, "I hadn't seen her in a while!"

"It's alright, Max. Then did you know anything about her connection to Nathan?" Officer Kane soothed, stepping so that she was in Max's gaze.

Shaking her head, Max replied, "Nothing outside of what they said in the bathroom." She then snatched up her bag. Although she had been patient, this was too much. "I'm going to go now, if you don't mind. I need to sleep."

"Of course," Officer Kane murmured, heading to get the door.

"Max," Detective Garrison called out. Turning back to look at him, Max raised her eyebrows. "Please could you tell me if you have ever heard of 'The Dark Room' before?"

"I haven't," Max answered as Officer Kane opened the door. Without another word, she stepped out of the room.

Officer Kate escorted her down the hall. As they approached the front, she said, "Thank you so much for your time and patience today. I am so sorry for your loss. The counselors at the school have been informed of the situation. Feel free to reach out to them. And if you think of anything else, do let me know."

Max nodded, still feeling sick with her revelation. Heading towards the door, she opened it and felt the cool autumn air engulf her. It erased the stifling smell of the police station. She sucked in a deep breath, letting her lungs fill to capacity. Slowly, she released it. But it still did not change what had happened or make it any easier to accept.

"I was wondering when they would release you."

Spinning on her heels, Max found Mr. Jefferson sitting on the bench just outside of the station. He was hidden by the shadows, but he stepped out of them. He had changed - or been given a change of clothes - as he was now sporting a gray, long-sleeved shirt and pair of black sweats that were a touch too large for him.

"They… they released you?" Max was stunned that he was allowed to leave before she was.

"Tentatively. I'm not to go anywhere. And I've been suspended from teaching at Blackwell pending further investigation," Mr. Jefferson answered as he approached her. "I waited for you, though. Let's go home."

 _Home._ It sounded nice, even if Mr. Jefferson's house wasn't quite her home yet. But he was trying to comfort her, make her feel as though she belonged there. So she followed like a sheep escorted by its shepherd. As she got into the car, she remembered when this alone brought her an unbelievable rush. That now seemed like eons ago. Back when Chloe was still alive.

 _Back when you could have contacted her if you had just had sucked up your own pride._

As Mr. Jefferson started to drive, he commented, "Max, I know… I know this is hard on you. No one should have to go through what you did today. But I just wanted you to know that you did well."

"No, I didn't," Max answered firmly.

Mr. Jefferson replied, "You have always doubted yourself. Which is why you need to hear it from someone else."

"She died," Max said, her voice breaking. Tears returned. This time, though, she furiously wiped them away. "That- _She_ was my best friend."

"You knew her..." Mr. Jefferson breathed out. It was definitely more of a statement than a question. A heavy pause permeated the air. "Max, I'm so sorry for your loss."

Max nodded as she tried to calm herself back down. "Thanks," she managed to add numbly, sniffling heavily.

"We're almost home. Then I'll make you a cup of tea, cool?" Mr. Jefferson pressed.

"Thanks, Mr. Jefferson."

Glancing over, Mr. Jefferson murmured, "Please, call me 'Mark' when we're alone."

"Sorry. Habit," Max said, her voice still thick. She still felt as though she wasn't truly present. It was as though the tap on her emotions had been broken, and she couldn't control how much or little she felt.

Abruptly, she felt a warm hand engulf her own. She looked down as she felt Mr. Jefferson - _no, Mark_ \- give her hand a squeeze. A soft, sad smile tugged at her lips. Flipping her hand over, she laced their fingers together. It was grounding. She truly wasn't alone in this. Mark was with her, even if he didn't completely understand her pain.

"Thank you for waiting for me," Max murmured, looking up at him. He stared out at the road, but he gave her hand another squeeze to tell her that he was listening. "I… I don't know how I would have coped tonight alone."

Mark turned, one-handed, into his driveway, never letting go of Max's hand. "You have a good heart, Max," he stated. "But you're also strong. I have faith you would have been fine in the end. But I couldn't bear the thought of you being alone tonight."

Trying to swallow down the knot in her throat, Max nodded. The car stopped, and Mark turned off the car. He then turned in his seat and reached out with his free hand. Cupping Max's face, he brought her in closer before kissing her sweetly. Max sighed into the kiss, leaning into it. The scruff didn't tickle her this time, and she instinctively reached up. Her hand hit Mark's glasses accidentally, and she broke the kiss in response.

"Sorry," she said, checking his glasses to make sure she hadn't damaged them at all.

Mark chuckled. "It's quite alright. Sometimes, I even forget I'm wearing them." With that, he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Come on. Let's get inside."

Getting out of the car, Max headed around to the front door. Mark was already there, unlocking the front door. As she stepped inside, Max half-jokingly asked, "So is this our date of the month?"

"No," Mark assured her. "Besides, I'm currently suspended as your teacher. So right now, I'm just your boyfriend. No strings attached. Cool?"

"Cool," Max answered as she kicked off her shoes. There was an empty spot in the shoe rack, she noticed, even after Mark put his shoes up. She felt her emotion choke her. It was something so simple, so stupid, but it meant the world to her at that point. Putting her shoes there, she set her jaw to keep herself from getting too emotional again.

"What do you need, Max?" Mark inquired, his voice low and calm.

 _My best friend back._

But he couldn't give her that. No one could give her that. That was something that she, in her heart, had to accept. Hugging herself, she replied, "I feel dirty. Could I take a shower?"

"Of course," Mark answered. He guided her down the hall and into his bedroom. Max noticed the glasses container sitting on the nightstand to the right of the bed, near a lamp, and some clothes poking out of his closet.

Opening the bathroom door, he turned on the lights. Mark had a state-of-the-art bathroom. His shower had several jets and two shower heads. The stone was a gorgeous mixture of browns and golds, with some soft shadings of reds and oranges. Slowly, Mark explained to Max how to use the shower. The various settings allowed her to dictate if the water came out overhead, from the sides, or as a normal shower would. He also informed her that she would sooner run him out of water altogether than hot water.

"Take however long you need," he murmured. "Do you understand me, Max? I would pay for the whole of the ocean to be emptied if that's how long you needed."

Max offered a weak laugh at his statement. "I don't think I'll need that much time."

"But if you do, take it," Mark said before pressing a kiss onto Max's forehead. Max let her eyes close, enjoying the sensation. How long had it been since she felt so cherished? Pulling back, he continued, "Let me get you something to change into."

Nodding, Max stepped back and pulled off her jacket. She also slung off her bag, not having realized it was still on. Mark returned, placing a pair of plaid slacks and a white button-down shirt onto the sink. Softly, Max asked, "Could you take my bag? I forgot I had it."

"Of course," Mark replied, picking it up. "Anything else you need?"

"No. Thank you," Max said.

The door closed, and Max finished removing her clothes. Carefully, she folded them and set them on the lid of the toilet. She then turned on the shower. Stepping in, she fiddled with the handles. She blasted herself from all angles with cold water. With a yelp, Max jumped and cranked the heat up. The water warmed pleasantly, and Max located the soap.

Eventually, she let her mind wander from washing. Her heart ached once more as she thought about Chloe. Although she hadn't reached out to her, Max had always thought of Chloe as her best friend. No matter who she met in Seattle, they could never hold a candle to Chloe in Max's heart.

 _And now she's gone forever._

Regrets seemed to pile upon more regrets. If Max could go back in time, she would have changed everything. She would have called Chloe the moment she was back in Arcadia Bay. No, she would have never lost contact with Chloe in the first place. She would have wrote her letters from Seattle and invited her over on the weekends. They would have continued to hang out and play and take photographs as they always had.

Did Chloe know? Did she know that Max had never forgotten her? That Max loved her like she loved a sister? That no one would ever be able to replace Chloe in her heart?

 _How could she? You never even fucking told her._

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she tilted her head up towards the showerhead. She turned it on, and water rained down upon her, soaking her hair through. But it also swept away her Max turned her face up towards the top shower head before turning it on. Water rained down, first cold then melding into warm. It soaked her hair and slithered down her body, camouflaging her tears, as though they were brethren. Together, they took the short trip down her small curves before disappearing into the drain.

Max was relieved that she finally felt as though she could cry. She couldn't have wept so openly with anyone around, not her parents or Joyce or even Mark. Instinctively, she worried she would be judged. What right did she have to cry, after all? She hadn't been in contact with Chloe for the last five years. That was the judgement she worried would be passed onto her. A judgement she secretly agreed with. That she could not, in the end, defend herself against.

 _You were a terrible bff._

Sobs rocked her with the force of an earthquake, forcing her to crouch to retain her balance. She mourned what had been lost: a wonderful friendship, a bright future, a fractured family finally becoming whole. Without a doubt, Chloe was the type to impact all those around her. And all those chances and possibilities were gone.

 _But at least Nathan Prescott's gone, too_.

Anguish subsided to anger. Clenching her fists, Max resisted the urge to hit something. Nathan Prescott had gotten away with too much over his lifetime. He had thought himself untouchable because of his family's wealth and power. But in such a small city like Arcadia Bay, was he not just a big fish in a small pond? He was bolstering himself into something greater than he was. And now he was dead. Max might not feel good about that fact, but at least she felt that it was just.

Getting up, Max located the shampoo and conditioner. She opened it, and the smell immediately reminded her of Mark. She washed her hair, ensuring nothing got into her eyes as she tried to calm down the last of her crying. Once her hair was cleaned, though, Max turned off the shower and stepped out. Towels hung just next to the door, and she snagged one. Wrapping it around her, she used the spare part to dab at her hair. She was dried enough to change in no time. Pulling on the slacks, she tightened the drawstring until the pants finally stopped falling down. The bottoms of them pooled at her feet, though, clearly too large for her. Then she grabbed the shirt and slipped into it without the need to undo any buttons besides the top two. She looked in the mirror.

 _You're swimming in this._

The sleeves more than covered her whole hand, and she tried to shove them back. But she looked like a child trying on adult clothes for the first time. Was Mark really _that_ much taller than her? That much bigger than her? Pulling the pant legs up, she waddled to the toilet before grabbing her clothes. She then emerged, shuffling her feet in order to ensure that she wouldn't trip.

Mark was in the living room, pacing about on his phone. As she walked down the hall, she could hear what he was saying, "I promise, if I had known anything like this was going to happen, I would have stopped him beforehand. - Uh huh. - Yes, I'm aware, but… - They asked? No, I didn't tell them!"

Max stepped out, and Mark looked up in surprise. He had already changed himself, she could see, given the fact that he was wearing slacks and a plain red t-shirt. Obviously, he had anticipated she would take far longer than what she did. He held up a finger, and she nodded.

"Look, it's been a long day. And I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow morning if I can. The police might want me to come back in to make a few more statements, though. - Yes, I will. - Okay. Goodnight."

Max tilted her head. "Who was that?"

"Just one of many people wanting to talk to me right now about the incident. As you can imagine, word has already spread throughout the town," Mark responded as he walked over. Max certainly could understand that, remembering her own fiasco with local reporters. Abruptly, he squeezed some of Max's hair to test its dampness before noticing what she was holding. "Here, I'll get those thrown in the wash. That way they'll at least be clean tomorrow when you head back to the dorm."

A bit reluctant, Max handed him her clothing. She wasn't completely comfortable with him cleaning her undergarments, but she was less comfortable with the thought of wearing them, dirty, the next day. Mark opened a closet in the hallway to reveal a washer and dryer.

"The shower was nice," Max offered, wanting to break the silence. "I almost felt like I was in a hotel."

"I had that shower custom built when I moved to Arcadia Bay," Mark informed her, turning on the washing machine. Looking over, he pushed his glasses back up a bit. "The shower is one of the few places where I can truly think. It takes me away from everything - television, Internet, even my camera - and it forces me to visualize and consider what I want from a photograph or subject."

Max said, "I take walks to clear my mind."

"I always wind up taking photographs," Mark responded as he headed back towards her. "Which I would then immediately want to get home and edit. By the time that was done, I usually realized I just lost hours and still had no solution."

Laughing quietly, Max replied, "That's why you should use an analog camera. Instant photograph, and no need for those troublesome edits."

"Fair enough. I certainly should look about getting one," Mark remarked before stopping in front of her. Max thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her again. Actually, part of her wished for it. Instead, though, he merely reached down and began to roll back the sleeves. "I think this shirt is a bit big for you."

Max watched as he expertly buttoned the sleeve back so that it wouldn't slide back forward. "I didn't mind it, though."

Doing the other one, Mark chuckled. "I am not sure you have the capacity to complain, Max."

"I complain all the time," Max responded. She left off the ending, which was "to my diary."

Mark raised a challenging eyebrow as he tested the second sleeve. It didn't move either. "Then prove it. Complain to me about one thing."

Floundering, Max tried to think of something that didn't hit upon today. She wasn't ready to complain about the police station or how Detective Garrison interrogated her or how Officer Kane treated her like a child. She wasn't ready to go into losing Chloe yet either. Instead, she felt her stomach give a painful twist, unlike the previously anxious ones before. She said, "I'm starving. I haven't eaten anything since lunchtime."

Smiling, Mark shook his head. "I suppose it's a start," he commented as he headed towards the kitchen. "I'm going to go make some tea and dinner. Why don't you find something for us to watch in the meantime?"

"Okay," Max murmured.

She found the remote sitting on the coffee table. Turning on the television, Max took a moment to register that it was on the local news station. Blackwell Academy was in the corner of the screen as the anchor stared into the camera with grave eyes. "Two Killed Today at Blackwell Academy" sat underneath the photo. Nausea washed over her. It felt like a fresh wound was being ripped back open. Quickly, Max changed the channel. She couldn't bear to watch that.

Flipping through the channels, Max desperately searched for anything that didn't revolve around death, guns, or violence that also was not animated. She had never realized before just how difficult that was. She kept stumbling across detective shows, action movies, kids programs, and an unusual amount of ghost hunting shows thanks to it being October.

Finally, Max landed on _"Sense and Sensibility."_ The movie was just starting, the opening credits bringing familiar names across them: Emma Thomspon, Alan Rickman, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant. A cup suddenly appeared in front of her. Looking up, she found Mark standing just behind his sofa. She carefully took the cup, not wanting to spill anything, and brought it down. Meanwhile, Mark glanced up at the television for but a moment. "Just let me know if you need anything."

Max nodded and took a sip from her cup. The warm, peppermint flavor filled her senses. Sitting there and drinking tea whilst watching a beloved classic romance, she couldn't help but enjoy the sensation of normalcy. Her heart tugged at her mind every now and again, a soft pang reminding her that all was not well. But in that moment, watching Marianne and Elinor Dashwood, Max could find some semblance of peace.

After quite some time, Mark walked around the sofa and sat down next to her. He had a large bowl in his hands, filled to the brim with a variety of colors. It was a grilled chicken salad, complete with tomatoes, eggs, carrots, celery, and bell peppers. A fork laid nestled in the middle of the bowl, and Max picked it up before stabbing through her first bite.

"Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No. It is immortal as immaculate Truth. 'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth drops from the stem of life - for it will grow in barren regions, where no waters flow, nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom," Marianne read on the screen, the room aglow with but a few candles.

Mark reclined and wrapped an arm around Max, pulling her closer to him. Leaning against him as best she could with her food, Max relaxed. Mark's words reverberated through her as he spoke, "A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb… That but itself and darkness nought doth show. It is my love's being yet it cannot die… Nor will it change, though all be changed beside… Though fairest beauty be no longer fair, Though vows be false, and faith itself deny, Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide… And hope a spectre in a ruin bare."

Startled, Max looked up at Mark. "You know it?"

"I'm quite well versed in poetry," Mark said. Max's eyes widened. "So surprising? What, I cannot have passions outside of photography and keeping up with the latest trends?"

Max flustered before taking another bite of food. She could at least preoccupy her mouth enough to bide some time. Upon seeing that, though, Mark laughed, his chest rumbling with his mirth. Max tried not to giggle, worried about choking, but his laughter was so contagious that it was difficult. Taking another bite, Max chewed slowly to give herself more time.

"Clever girl," Mark teased. He rested his lips on top of her head for but a moment, a ghost of a kiss. "But there's no need. There was a… phase, we'll call it that… that I went through in which I trudged through as much poetry as I could find. I read through all the classics I could find, committing which ones struck me most to my mind. The poem in this movie happened to be one of them."

After swallowing her bite, Max pried, "Why?"

"Why did I memorize them? Or why that one?" Mark asked.

"Why that poem," Max clarified before snatching up a piece of chicken.

Mark leaned back for a moment, running a hand through her drying hair mindlessly. "I was trying to understand the interactions between the heart and the mind. I touched upon it with my photography, and the concept fascinated me so much, that I began to explore it in other iterations."

Max understood his fascination. At her very core, she wanted to capture the world. She wanted there to be heart and soul in her pictures, for them to pull at the minds at someone else. But she struggled to feel as though she could do that. When she read books, though, they seemed to do it without any issue.

She turned her attention back to the movie. As she ate, the spiraling love stories took place in front of her. She watched as Marianne threw herself wholeheartedly into love. However, Max preferred Elinor's approach. She was quieter about her feelings, but they were still apparent in the manner in which they spoke. But Max's love interest remained with the Colonel, an almost subplot character through the beginning of the movie. His love was so understated but pure. Honestly, she felt as though he was far too overlooked by the willful Marianne. But then again, this wasn't _her_ love story.

Finishing her salad, she placed it on the coffee table before them. She sipped at what remained of her tea, now lukewarm. But the day was catching up to her quickly. Just as the Colonel revealed to Elinor the treachery of Willaby, she felt her eyes start to close. It was similar to the way that they had the first time she stayed over, her eyelids dragging themselves to stay open. The day had been long and strenuous, though. And it had left her exhausted.

She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable angle. It did her no better, though. As she shifted again, Mark gently placed an arm under hers. "Come."

Max allowed him to move her as he pleased. Before she knew it, she was laying on top of him, her cheek pressed against his chest. He encircled her in his arms, a hand stroking through her now dried hair. Max relaxed into him. Certainly, she had never felt more safe or comfortable as she did here. Mark continued to stroke her hair, and Max barely kept her eyes open enough to watch the events unfold.

As the Colonel carried Marianne towards the estate, Max found she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. "M-Mark," she called out as a warning.

"Shh," he murmured. "Sleep, Max. Tomorrow is a new day."

With that, Max succumbed.


	19. Dysphoria

It was a beautiful day out. Warm, for an October day, especially in comparison to how the other days had been. However, Max felt as though it wasn't suitable as they walked the casket out to the grave-site. Joyce, of course, was beside herself. Her eyes were red and puffy from the start, and she hadn't stopped crying since Max laid eyes upon her. However, she was just as much of a mother then as she was five years previous.

"Darling, I heard your message on the answering machine. Chloe would have loved seeing you again," she said softly through her tears, her southern drawl tying the words together seamlessly. "Now you make sure to come over sometime soon, okay? I've missed having you around."

Mr. Madsen, on the other hand, barely spoke a word, although he did not shed tears. He also did not speak to anyone besides Joyce, merely nodding his head as they gave their condolences. It was clear that, although he must have seen funerals before, that he did not know how to handle this one. He appeared stoic but out of his depth.

It was a small gathering for Chloe, including many faces from Blackwell Academy. Warren was there, giving soft words of comfort to Max. Mark Jefferson and Principal Wells came to represent the school. Kate, Dana, Justin, Trevor, and the skaters all showed up as well. Apparently, Chloe used to skate with them back when Rachel Amber was still around. Much to Max's surprise, Victoria also attended. She said nothing, always remaining towards the back.

Max walked directly behind Joyce and Mr. Madsen, her head low as she tried to keep herself from crying. Kate remained right by her side as they headed up. Max was comforted by her presence, as Mark couldn't support her without drawing eyes. As she arrived at the grave, she saw that it was the Price plot. Chloe was being laid to rest next to her father, William. Where Joyce was supposed to be laid to rest.

That nearly broke Max.

Stiff-lipped, Max swallowed hard as she choked back her sadness. Joyce stood before the closed casket with David, sobbing into his chest. Max stood next to her, staring at the casket. Stepping up to her right side, Warren stood and folded his hands in front of him. Kate gave her one last affectionate touch before walking around to the other side. Slowly, everyone filtered in, all huddling around the casket.

Max didn't comprehend anything the priest said. Instead, her eyes were locked on a blue butterfly, which landed on top of the casket. It fluttered its wings, reminiscent of Chloe's hair. She felt her throat tighten again as she recalled the last time she saw it. That butterfly had kept her from being seen. It had probably saved her life. Or had it cost Chloe hers? Max supposed she would never know.

 _There's no point in dwelling on it._

The butterfly flew off as the casket was lowered. And just like that, the funeral was over. Max whispered her condolences to both Joyce and David. Stepping aside, she gave Joyce once last hug before heading back down the path from the cemetery. Warren caught up to her.

"Hey, you haven't been answering my texts," he noted softly. He looked at Max in concern. "I know you're not alright, but… are you alright?"

Max knew what he meant by the question. "Sorry. Your car looked cool in that pic you texted me. Very old-school. But I just... haven't felt very social lately."

"Yeah, no, I get it," Warren murmured, casting his eyes towards the ground. "Whenever you need a pick-me-up, just let me know. We can go to that drive-in in Newberg I was telling you about now."

Offering him a smile, Max replied, "Thanks, Warren. For reals. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have great friends like you around."

Warren's face dropped for just a second. It was so brief that Max wasn't sure she had seen it correctly. Then, he simply smiled. "Just make sure to send me back a text every now and again so I know you're okay."

"I will, Warren. Thanks again," Max murmured as she gave him a farewell wave.

Warren hesitated before giving one last nod. Walking towards the bus stop, he only glanced back once. Max looked away then, not wanting him to think she was signalling him to stay around. Suddenly, a hand touched her arm. She found Kate standing behind her.

"Oh, hey, Kate," she greeted.

Kate murmured, "I just wanted to say sorry for the way I treated you. I know you were just trying to be a good friend, but-"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Max cut in, raising a hand to stop Kate. "You were going through a hard time."

Obviously relieved, Kate hugged Max. "We're going to get that tea soon, Max. And we're going to talk about everything, okay? I'm finally ready to discuss with you what happened that night."

"Then just let me know when, and I will be there," Max murmured as she embraced Kate back. With one final squeeze, she pulled back. "And I heard your video got pulled down. I'm glad to hear that."

"Yeah," Kate said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes this time. "I'm glad. Everyone has been really kind to me these last few days. I feel so blessed."

Max, however, was still angry on her friend's behalf. "It shouldn't have taken this for them to realize something was wrong and that Nathan Prescott was sick motherfucker."

"It's just a shame he didn't get the help he clearly needed. And as for everyone else, well, we all make mistakes. I hope they learn from it," Kate said. Max admired her forgiving nature. If she had been in Kate's shoes, she doubted she would be so inclined. But then again, Max had never thought herself a better person than Kate.

Kate looked past Max. "I think that's the bus coming. You should hurry if you want to catch it."

"I'll get the next one," Max replied.

As Kate started off, she glanced behind. "Let's get tea this week!"

"Just text me when, and I'll be there!" Max called back.

With that, Kate hurried off. Max watched her friend, happy to see that things were looking up for her once more. It had been painful to see Kate so depressed. But Kate was clearly healing, and Max was touched that she finally felt comfortable enough to confide in her. They truly were becoming friends.

 _I won't make the same mistake that I did with Chloe._

"Max," Dana called out, reaching the bottom. It seemed the skaters were still at the site. "I haven't seen you since…" She fumbled and stared, obviously not knowing how to continue that sentence.

 _Since Nathan shot my best friend._

Max's mind filled it for her unnecessarily. "Yeah, I just haven't really been feeling up to socializing," she explained. The excuse was a lame one, but no one was about to call her out on it. Not after everything that happened.

Dana hummed in acknowledgement. Checking that there was no one around, she asked quietly, "Have you heard about the fucked up shit Nathan Prescott was into?"

"No," Max confessed. She couldn't stomach watching the news that morning for any updates, and she usually either spent time in her room or with Mark as of late.

"So the police discovered that he basically had his own photography studio in, like, some sort of apocalyptic bunker completely funded by his father. And they found a bunch of sedative drugs down there as well as some binders with victims' names and pictures in them. Apparently, he drugged girls from school at the Vortex Club parties he hosted and would bring them down there to photograph them while they were unconscious."

"That's seriously fucked up," Max said, feeling nauseated at the thought. At least she now knew what to expect when Kate finally opened up to her. She just hoped that it didn't get too much worse than that if only for Kate's sake.

"That's not even the most fucked up part about it. So the police are trying to track down the girls whose names are on the binders, right? But I heard from Juliet that one of the binders had Victoria's name on it but was empty. Which means that she was totally his next victim even though they were best friends."

Max paused a moment as she took that in. "Does Victoria know?"

"Well, the police stopped by her room this morning to ask her a few questions, so I think so," Dana replied. "I just feel so bad for her. Like, she totally trusted him. I think he's basically the only friend she had."

That must be hard on her. After all, they had seemed like quite the inseparable pair. Max felt genuinely bad for her. Victoria might have been a grade-A bitch, but that didn't mean she deserved this to happen to her.

Justin stopped next to them with his posse not too far behind. "Ready to go?" he asked before looking between her and Max.

"Yeah. Let's get something to eat," Dana replied. She gave Max a wave. "Don't forget to stop by my room sometime to hang out, you hear?"

"You got it," Max promised.

With that, Dana and Justin walked off. Dana looked far happier around the skaters than she ever did around the football players.

Victoria was the next come coming down the hill. As she approached, Max debated if she should say something or not. After all, she and Victoria had never been friends. Victoria had even lied about winning the bet in order to make Max back off. But had she not lost in the end? And, having just lost her own best friend, wasn't Max the best person to sympathize? Nathan didn't deserve Max's tears, but Victoria didn't deserve her wrath just because she cared about him.

As Victoria walked by, she didn't even turn to look at her. Max felt her confidence waver a moment before she called out, "Hey, Victoria?"

Victoria stopped, placing one hand on her hip. She waited, one eyebrow up, for Max to speak.

"I'm sorry," she said, "for your loss. I know that you and Nathan were close."

"Not as close as I thought," Victoria remarked, crossing her arms over her chest. Fear flickered across her expression. "Apparently, I was to be his next 'model.' I can see why he'd want to capture me… but I can't believe what he would do to get it."

Max frowned, knowing that nothing she could say would make this better. Nothing _would_ make this better. Victoria was just going to have to get over this over time. Just as Max would. "You didn't deserve that, Victoria. No matter what you did, to me or anyone else. Believe that."

"I know. I… I do," Victoria answered, her own confidence faltering. Max wondered what she was holding back. Finally, she said, "The police came by today to ask me some questions. They asked me if I had ever modeled for Nathan or been asked to. They wanted to know if I had ever experience memory blackouts around him. Then they… they started asking me about Rachel Amber."

 _So I wasn't the only one._

Feigning ignorance, Max echoed, "Rachel Amber? The girl from the missing posters?"

"Yeah," Victoria replied. "He had a binder that had some photos of her. They…" She shook her head, unable to continue.

Max wasn't willing to let it go so easily, though. "What did they tell you, Victoria?"

"They suspect he killed her after the photoshoot," Victoria snapped, her eyes blazing as she locked onto Max again. Max almost took a step back upon seeing that. "They asked me if I knew anything about it. If he had mentioned anything to me at all."

"And did he?"

"Of course not, Max. I might be a lot of things, but I'm not an accessory to murder. If he had ever even hinted to what he did, I would have called the police immediately," Victoria spat back.

Max shuffled her feet awkwardly. "I didn't mean to imply-" she started to explain, feeling rather guilty about her accusation.

"No, just - it's just been one of those weeks," Victoria said with a heavy sigh. She appeared pretty weighed down by everything.

Nodding, Max murmured, "Yeah, I feel you. Just take it one day at a time, Victoria. That's all we can do."

"Indeed. Au revoir, Max," Victoria remarked before sauntering off. The next bus had almost arrived. As she walked off, she called back over her shoulder, "This doesn't mean we're friends now, by the way! So don't get any stupid ideas."

Smiling, Max put her earbuds in and turned on her music. Mark was still back there, but so was Principal Wells. If they walked out together and caught Max waiting, it would draw attention. Besides, she needed some time to consume the tidal wave of information she had been hit with. She hadn't anticipated any of it. It muddled her mind with several thoughts, each one clambering to have her full attention.

Nathan Prescott had taken advantage of the girls who attended the Vortex Club parties. Honestly, she shouldn't have been as surprised as she was. Nathan had always been strange. She hadn't been surprised to hear him talking to himself in the bathroom. That coupled with his violent tendencies, it was certainly a toxic combination. And there had always been rumors that he was on medications for mental illnesses. Or, as one student once put it, "He's fucking crazy, so they keep him drugged up so he doesn't snap."

Reflecting on Victoria, Max wondered how she was going to cope with this. Her best friend might be dead, but Victoria's best friend was planning on violating her with photography. Max remembered the lecture on Sontag's theory, but she never imagined it would be like this. She shuddered to think of what she would do if caught in Nathan's viewfinder.

And then there was poor Rachel Amber. The thought that Nathan killed that poor girl made her sick to her stomach. And also incredibly frustrated with law enforcement. Nathan had always bragged that his family owned Arcadia Bay, but she had never seen evidence of it until now. What other sick things had they managed to hide? The more she considered it, though, the less she wanted to know.

 _At least he can never hurt anyone again._

It wasn't much consolation, but it was better than Chloe dying for no reason at all. In the end, she had uncovered one of the greatest scandals in Arcadia Bay history. And now the Prescotts would never again be able to loiter above the town. Maybe they would even move out of Arcadia Bay and allow it to return to the sleepy safe haven it once represented.

 _I wonder if Nathan's been buried yet._

The thought flashed across Max's mind without warning. Chloe, after all, had been buried today, and they had died the same day. There was a chance that he was already in the ground. But if so, there hadn't been an announcement about it. It could have been a private affair, but who would have gone outside of family? Would any of the Vortex Club? Would Victoria? Would Mr. Jefferson and Principal Wells?

Max arrived at her beloved lighthouse. She flopped down onto the bench, watching the ocean. The water almost pulled her thoughts away. However, she anchored onto them. She needed her thoughts for her emotions to finally organize themselves. And no, she wouldn't go to Nathan's funeral if it hadn't happened yet. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt. Although she didn't feel right to judge who did, she could not pay her respects to a murderer.

Looking out, Max could make out the Two Whales Diner from there. She would pop in to see Joyce next Saturday. And this time, she meant it. No more hiding and fearing what others think or say. That had cost her Chloe, but it wouldn't cost her anyone else. There wasn't enough time in the world to wait around anymore.

Max took out her earbuds and leaned back. Seagulls cawed, circling about the skies. The waves continued to surge and fall with the same rhythm they always had. One that matched the beating of Max's own heart. Sitting there, she watched the world, knowing it as the same scene she watched the week before. And yet wasn't the same. This world, in its ignorant bliss, continued on as it always had. But now, it was a little less.

"I thought I'd find you up here."

Looking over, Max smiled as Mark approached. "I just walked here instinctively."

"You needed some time to think," Mark replied. "Did you get enough? Or should I leave?"

"No, stay," Max insisted, shifting over to make room for him on the bench. She patted the space next to her.

Mark sat down and reclined, his eyes scanning the broad ocean before them. "I never did like the ocean," he murmured. "Beautiful although it might be, it's entirely uncontrollable."

"That's why I love it," Max sighed out. After a few more minutes, she turned to face him. Mark kept his eyes transfixed in front of him. His glasses reflected the sun in the most brilliant way. But he appeared a touch more stressed than usual. "You stayed back for quite some time."

"I wanted to give my proper condolences to the family. And Principal Wells wished to speak to me," Mark explained.

Max felt her nerves spike. "About?"

"The police investigation," he answered with a sigh. "They're getting a clearer picture of what happened. And I believe there's quite a bit of pressure from external sources for them to close the case as quickly as possible. So he wanted to inform me that my suspension will be lifted by the end of the week so long as no new information comes to light. So next Monday, I am back to teaching."

Well, it certainly could have been worse, given how Max had spent so much time at Mark's house since the investigation started. No one had noticed. Lucky for them. But it also meant the return of their distant longings. Max knew that it was just a matter of time. However, Mark's presence had been a great comfort for her.

"More importantly, though, should my suspension be lifted, I will still be chauffeuring to go to San Francisco with the winner of the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest," Mark noted.

Max frowned. "We're still participating, even with everything that has happened?"

"Blackwell Academy needs a bit of good publicity right now," Mark explained, his eyes never leaving the scenery around them. However, even from this angle, Max could see his displeasure. "Principal Wells believes this is the best way to get it. And I am the most experienced in the art world from the school, so my insight and guidance would be invaluable for the winner. Besides, if I don't attend, that'll bring about more questions. Questions that neither Blackwell nor Arcadia Bay want to answer. Although I cannot fault his logic, I don't agree with it either."

Nodding, Max sat back in her seat. That would be an entire weekend Mark was gone then. Perhaps it would be for the best. He could probably do with a change of scenery. Max could probably convince her parents to let her come home for the weekend, too, so she could get away, too.

"They're saying… they're saying Nathan drugged those girls and photographed them in his… Dark Room," Max said.

Mark looked at her in alarm. "Who said this?"

"The police."

Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze towards his lap. "I can't believe it."

"I couldn't either," Max confessed, hoping that was some consolation for him. She understood his frustration. Mark probably felt as though he should have noticed something. Softly, she added, "They think he has something to do with that Rachel Amber's disappearance."

"I haven't heard anyone say that name in quite some time," Mark commented, reclining against the bench. He let his head fall back to stare straight up at the sky. "After everything that's happened this last week, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to hear that he's killed before. But how could everyone have been so blind?"

Max responded, "No one knew. Not even Victoria, and she was his best friend. He just got good at leading a double life."

"Well, let's just hope they close this case soon. I'm sure Rachel Amber's family would want the closure, and Blackwell won't start healing until the police stop putting salt in the wound," Mark said before looking over at Max again. Ruffling her hair affectionately, he continued, "You shouldn't be worrying about things like this."

"Homework just doesn't seem as important anymore," Max confessed.

Smirking, Mark replied, "Most of your peers share that opinion, no matter the circumstances."

Max felt a laugh bubble out of her unexpectedly. Leaning into him, she continued to laugh. It was such an asinine comment. And yet the truth of it rang so clearly that it struck her. Surprised, Mark wrapped an arm around her and drew her close. A touch of joy on a day like today didn't leave Max feeling guilty. Her grief was like an open wound, and this was the equivalency to the blood clotting. It didn't hurt any less, but at least it made her feel better if only for a time.

"Come. It's getting late," Mark finally said, rising to his feet. He offered her a hand to help her up. "Best you get back to the dormitories. You will be missed tonight."

Although Max had her doubts, she nodded in agreement. She took his hand, feeling its encompassing strength, and helped herself up. She then brushed off her dress, still not used to wearing one, and started down the hill. A few steps down, she heard a rustling from her left. Immediately, she scanned the trees and spotted a doe. It looked at her for a long moment, as if entranced by seeing her.

Heavy footsteps approached. Mark reached her, touching her arm. "Max, what are you looking at?"

Just like that, the trance was broken. The doe bolted. Max startled at the touch, jumping. "D-did you not see it?"

"See what?" Mark asked, confused.

Max responded, "The doe. There was a doe just off the path."

Looking over, Mark shook his head. "No, I didn't see anything. I must have missed it in the foliage."

 _Strange._

Max tore her gaze away from searching for the doe further. It was probably the same one she had seen before - the one she had photographed. Gently, she touched her pendant, which was a doe itself. Max never liked to let herself get too philosophical. But perhaps it was a sign? Mrs. Grant had once talked about the Native Americans who lived there and the significance of spirit animals conveying messages to the living. But Chloe wasn't Native American. Hell, Max wasn't even sure Chloe believed in an afterlife.

With that, Max pushed the doe from her mind. She was trying to make something out of nothing. After all, she missed Chloe and had plenty of regrets. Of course she would want something to tell her that she was forgiven. That everything was alright.

 _But no one is ever going to give you that._


	20. Sarang

"Bloodwell Academy" is what the local news was calling them, a rather morbid statement but a true one nevertheless. "Blackhell Academy" was the national headlines for it, less triggering - Max supposed - for the masses. The police had managed to keep the victims' names from becoming public. And somehow, Mr. Jefferson's name hadn't been pulled in either, either by some minor miracle or blackmail, Max wasn't sure which.

Meanwhile, Blackwell Academy was cloaked in its mourning. The flag outside was flown at half-mast. There was less chatter in the hallways during passing periods. Everyone avoided the girls' bathroom on the first floor, skirting around it as though going inside would make them victims as well. However, Max didn't fault them. She couldn't bring herself to enter the bathroom either. Any time she needed it, she trekked up to the second floor.

There was no sense of normalcy in classes either. Mrs. Hoida was clearly struggling with what had happened. Rumor was that she was close with Rachel Amber, and she was taking the revelations poorly. This reflected in her teaching, as she would oftentimes lose her train of thought and wind up apologizing as she checked her notes. Alyssa started to help her by reminding her or answering the last question she asked.

In addition, photography free hours left Max with a feeling of emptiness. Students would mill about the school ground during those hours, all seemingly aimless with their wanderings. No one really seemed to know what to do. Max was with them. Once, Max spent her time with Kate, who was recovering. But she was stronger than she seemed. She was starting to branch out again. She began to reconnect with Stella and Alyssa, both of whom seemed to miss her greatly. With all her heart, Max was happy for her.

Max sat outside the school, watching Samuel as he pulled down the missing posters of Rachel Amber. Although the police still hadn't found her body, they were certain she was no longer a runaway. The news stated they were searching for her body on the Prescott Farm grounds. Max's heart went out to the family, who must have held onto the hope of finding her again someday.

"Caulfield."

It took Max a moment before she realized that she was being addressed. Surprised, she looked around to find David Madsen walking towards her. He had a grave look on his face, hard lines defining his eyes and mouth. If Max didn't suspect he always looked angry, she would have been more intimidated. She rose. "Hello, Mr. Madsen."

"Joyce asked me to tell you to stop by the Two Whales Diner tonight," he stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dinner will be on her."

Max couldn't help but smile. Even now, Joyce was staying on her case to make sure she didn't slink away. She really was a mom through and through. "I'll be there. Is five alright?"

"I'm sure that'll be fine," Mr. Madsen responded, giving a curt nod. "I'll let her know you'll be there."

As he turned, Max called out "Mr. Madsen? I… I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Max. I know that we didn't have a great relationship. She called me her 'step-douche,' but I tried to be a good father," Mr. Madsen replied, his pain etching itself in his eyes.

"Chloe was always stubborn, even when she was younger," Max said, offering a sad smile. Her heart ached for her friend. "But she was also fiercely loyal and protective of her friends. She'd do anything for them… Not that all of us deserved that."

Mr. Madsen's large brows drew tightly together. "All that time I wasted with surveillance. I could have stopped Nathan if I wasn't… so stupid."

Max noted, "You couldn't have known what he would do. Even with all of the security cameras, you can't see into someone's mind."

"No, Max. I knew Nathan Prescott was a threat. I just waited too long to neutralize him," Mr. Madsen asserted, his voice building with confidence and a touch of spite. "He's lucky he died the way he did. I'm not sure what I would have done if he hadn't."

Frowning, Max noted, "You don't mean that. You're just hurting right now. Just like the rest of us. But you're not a bad person, David. You would have done the right thing. I believe that with all my heart."

"I wish you had been around when I first started dating Joyce. You might have been a good influence on Chloe," Mr. Madsen commented. Max felt as though she had been torn open. Eyes widening, he continued, "I didn't mean it as though you weren't there for her, Max."

 _But I wasn't, was I?_

"I wish I had been there, too, Mr. Madsen. More than you know," Max confessed.

"It's funny how many regrets crop up only after you can't change them," Mr. Madsen replied understandingly. Max felt a pang at the truth of that statement. The bell then rang, causing them both to start. As students began to pour out of the school, Mr. Madsen asked, "17:00 still good?"

"Yes. I'll be there then," Max answered.

Honestly, Max was torn between dreading and anticipating meeting up with Joyce. They had only spoke at the funeral for a few minutes, enough to exchange condolences. But Max wasn't worried about Joyce berating or judging her. However, she wasn't sure she was ready to be opened up like an oyster. Joyce would, no doubt, want to talk about Chloe. Max understood. Bearing the pain, on the other hand, was a different matter.

Even so, Max owed her at least a meeting. She slunk off to the cafeteria, which was now open for students. The Vortex Club was scattered about, she noticed. And they were also standing in line, patiently waiting for food just like every other student. Their claws had been removed, and their days being at the front of the line were over.

 _I wonder how Victoria's taking it._

Victoria had been MIA more often than not recently. If she was in her room, it was only to sleep. It left Max's nights pretty peaceful whenever Kate or Dana didn't crash into her room to chat. They were also starting to bring friends. It seemed that the social circle was shifting on the floor. And lately, Max's late nights were due to her own laughter and chatter.

"What's up, Max? How are you?" Warren inquired.

Jumping, Max turned to find him just behind her. She had been too spaced out to hear him approaching. "Fine. I'm fine. What's up?"

"I just got some nice new wheels. And that drive-in I told you about is having a 70's 'Planet of the Apes' marathon. You want to 'Go Ape' with me?" Warren inquired nonchalantly.

 _Uh-oh…_

Max hesitantly answered, "No. I don't think I could enjoy it, what with everything..."

"Fine. Be a damned dirty human. I'll 'Go Ape' myself," Warren replied, only half-jesting.

From his hurt expression, Max could tell she had wounded him. This had been what everyone warned her about. And her cowardice allowed it to happen. "You know, Warren, you should invite Brooke to go with you."

"Brooke?" Warren echoed. He appeared shocked.

Max said, "Call it feminine intuition, but she's hella into you. She would be happy to be your plus one to watch the planet as we know it destroyed. And she seems like she needs a bit of retro in her life."

Warren stared at Max, his jaw slightly dropped open. She knew it wasn't what he wanted to hear. No one ever wanted to hear their crush encouraging them to date someone else. However, Max was already with a man she loved. Warren, with all his boyish tendencies, truly couldn't hold a candle to Mark romantically. Not that Max could tell him that, though.

"Max, Brooke's just a science partner to me," Warren tried to explain.

 _He really isn't going to take a hint, is he?_

Unblinking, Max stared at him. "Warren, I've always been grateful for you. You were one of my first ever friends at Blackwell, and you've always been there for me. But I'm not interested in dating anyone right now. Not with everything that has happened. I'd rather just focus on myself and my future."

"Oh," Warren murmured. He had clearly not been anticipating that response. Honestly, Max was a bit surprised herself at her straightforwardness. But cowardice had led her to nothing but misery. It was time to make a change. "I'll… I'll consider asking Brooke then. I guess."

"We still cool to be friends?" Max asked. Warren was a nice guy. Although Max didn't have a doubt as to what his response would be, she did want to make sure that everything was cleared between them.

"Of course, Max. I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I'll still be around whenever you want. And sometimes when you don't," Warren replied. He then took a step back. "I'm gonna go, though."

Nodding, Max said, "Text me later. Kay?"

"Okay." With that, Warren scurried off with his head low. Max thought she saw him rub at his eyes, but she couldn't be sure. He nearly ran into Hayden, though, stumbling to the side at the last second. Hayden nearly dropped his food in the process. After a few words were exchanged, Warren was gone.

 _It's for the best._

Max had to remind herself of that. After all, she doubted that she would make Warren happy. And there was no way that they were going to be able to make it after Blackwell. Warren was too sweet not to catch another girl's attention at whatever college he went to. Besides, Max had Mark. Just because no one else could know didn't make that fact less true.

Lunch went by quickly. Max had found the shade of a tree to sit under, and she enjoyed her food there. When the bell rang, she pitched the last of her food and started towards her next class. It was then that she heard the school's announcement system kick up. Principal Wells rarely used it, as it was normally reserved for someone in trouble. However, it had become almost a staple in their days since the shooting.

"Greetings, Blackwell students and faculty. I have a quick announcement to make," he called out. Max noticed how everyone was still talking over it. She headed towards her classroom, still half-paying attention. "First, I want to thank everyone who participated in the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest. I know that these last few weeks have been difficult, but it's always essential to remember the heart of Blackwell. Now, we had many fantastic applicants. We wished we could choose more than one, but the rules do not allow it. Therefore, I am pleased to announce that winner is Max Caulfield."

 _Did I hear that right?_

Stopping in her tracks, Max now honed in. Principal Wells continued, "I hope everyone congratulates Miss Caulfield on a job well done. She will be the face of Blackwell Academy this weekend in San Francisco. Congratulations again and thank you to all who participated!"

Max still couldn't believe it. _She_ had won the _"_ _Everyday Heroes"_ contest. She was going to fly to San Francisco - with Mark - and be in the eye of the art world for the first time. Her heart thumped at the thought. Immediately, she reached into her pocket and began to frantically send texts to her mother and father. They were going to be so proud of her. It was the final proof she needed that going to Blackwell had been the right choice. Not that they were going to force her to leave, although the offer for her to return had been extended more than once.

 _I wonder what Mark's going to say._

Not too long ago, Max had exchanged numbers with Mark. It was quite the moment, although he had cautioned her to not send him anything inappropriate. Should something happen cell phone companies could find the logs and give them to the proper authorities. But school-related items should be fine. Her text message went through eight different edits before she finally landed on: _Get ready, art world. Max Caulfield's on her way to San Fran._

Max entered her classroom only to be rushed by Dana. "Congratulations, Max! I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed, giving Max a huge hug.

Laughing, Max replied, "I'm still in shock."

"Would you mind interviewing for an article?" Juliet asked, having come over during the hug. "I would love to get a snippet both before and after your trip."

"Yeah, of course," Max answered. Juliet, for all her flaws, was a good reporter. She had a passion for exposing the truth, without regarding if it benefited her to do so. "I have somewhere to be tonight, but maybe tomorrow after school while I'm packing?"

"I'll be there!" Juliet chirped. "Thanks, Max."

"Alright, calm down now. Class is starting. Get in your seats!"

Everyone obeyed. However, Max found it difficult to concentrate. Her mind was aflutter with nerves. She was going to be in San Francisco, surrounded by other photographers and reporters alike. And she was only 18. There were people who would kill for the opportunity that she had, but she wasn't quite sure how to handle it. Was she even ready yet? Was she actually prepared to meet people head-on? What if she had to field critiques? She wasn't sure she could manage that.

 _Mark's going to be there. So stop worrying!_

It made sense, but it still didn't stop her nerves from making her leg bounce impatiently. Feeling sick, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She wondered who it was answering, but she couldn't check for another agonizing 49 minutes. As soon as the bell rang, she snatched up her phone and opened up her messages. One from Mom and one from Dad, but none from Mark, who was "Mr. Jefferson" in her phone.

Disappointed, Max read her parents' messages. Her mother was ecstatic for her, and her father's text reflected his pride well. It was certainly fitting, and Max almost felt as though she was with them: her mother hugging her in excitement and her father proudly clapping her on the shoulder. It was nice that they could share these things, even being separated.

The day dragged, and each time Max's phone buzzed, she checked it as quickly as possible. But the text messages were from everyone - even Victoria, who wrote, "Congratz but I totally let you win" - except for the one person she wanted to hear from most. Before she knew it, five o'clock had rolled around, and she was standing outside the Two Whales Diner. And still no message from Mark.

Max noticed her just a she was about to walk in. A homeless woman, wrapped up tightly in a blanket - probably one of her few worldly belongings. In Seattle, the homeless were ignored, people "unseeing" them almost as soon as they registered who they were. But Max, a photographer at heart, couldn't help but notice. After a moment's hesitation, she greeted, "Hello."

"Aw, look at you. A fine example of youth. I bet you're a senior student," the homeless woman crooned, a gnarled smile twisting onto her face.

Max nodded, not at all surprised by the deduction. "Yes, I go to Blackwell Academy."

"I could tell you're a wise young woman. I know all about Blackwell and this town," the homeless woman noted, bobbing her head as though she was agreeing with herself.

"You must know Joyce Price-" she started.

"She's fed me more than my own family," the homeless woman cut in, her eyes twinkling with fondness. Max smiled softly, glad that Joyce was still as sweet a she remembered. "Married to a real prick, though. And has a daughter your age. Or, I suppose, had. Poor thing passed away recently."

With that, Max's smiled died. "Her name was Chloe. Did you ever get to know her?"

"Enough to know her type. Cute girl. Pissed off. I used to see her and her pretty friend, er… Rachel, around a lot," the homeless woman continued.

Max was surprised to hear Rachel's name come up. "She hung out with Rachel Amber, that missing girl?"

"Aye, that very one. I know she hung out here a bit. Sometimes, I'd see her walking, all by herself, deep in thought. Too damn young and pretty to look so worried," the homeless woman explained, shaking her head.

 _Probably worried about Nathan Prescott. I know I would have been if I had his interest._

"Was she alone a lot or with friends?" Max pressed, her curiosity now piqued.

The homeless woman shrugged. "Like I said, she seemed tight with Joyce's daughter. I thought I saw her with an older gent one time, maybe her dad. That's a terrible thing for a parent to deal with… but you can't save everybody."

Max could feel the truth of that statement stab through her heart. "That's true. Well, it was nice to talk to you. Joyce is waiting for me."

"You keep safe, you hear? Arcadia Bay isn't the little hamlet it used to be," the homeless woman warned as Max pushed into the Two Whales Diner.

Immediately, she was engulfed with the smell of cooking and warmth. This reminded her more of home than anything else would. Sometimes, when her parents made breakfast, she could almost come back to Arcadia Bay. But nothing quite compared to the greasy aroma of the Two Whales Diner. With that, Max relaxed.

"Max! You just take a seat wherever you want, dear, and I'll get somethin' for you fired up. What do you want to eat?" Joyce called out from behind the counter. No one stirred, apparently used to such outbursts.

Max, on the other hand, was a little thrown off. "Um, I've been dreaming about your bacon omelette."

"One bacon omelette for the young lady. Stat!" Joyce called into the back.

"Bacon at 12 o'clock high!" was the call back.

Walking towards the jukebox, Max sat down at a booth not too far from it. She still remembered how she and Chloe would beg Joyce for some spare change to play their favorite songs on it. Sometimes, if they were cute enough, they could get some change from a nearby patron, much to Joyce's displeasure. But today, it was sitting there all alone. Max walked up to it and put some of her spare change in. She pressed the numbers for Chloe's favorite, unable to help herself. She missed her wild and fun friend. Desperately.

"Incoming!" Joyce called out as she walked over. "I can hear your stomach rumbling from here, Max. Here. You'll love this."

Instantly, Max recognized the famous bacon omelette. She sat down at the table, and Joyce stood next to her. "It's so strange seeing you now as a young woman."

"You look just the same," Max remarked.

Joyce laughed. "You mean I still look like a waitress at the Two Whales Diner?"

"No, like you still look pretty," Max answered, digging into her omelette.

"Nice save, kid. You're still smart," Joyce replied. She let out a sigh and sat down in the seat across from her. "I wasn't sure you'd come today."

Max knew what she meant by it, but she joked, "Mr. Madsen said dinner was on you. I wasn't about to turn that down."

"David told me earlier. Still, I figured you might still have some apprehensions, considering…" Her voice trailed, her voice thickening.

Max felt her own throat tighten as well. "I was glad you invited me, Joyce. I missed you when I was in Seattle."

"I figured as much because you never called," Joyce replied, placing her hand on her hip. Max stirred at that statement. "I meant, you must have believed it would be more painful to reach out to us once you were away."

Max couldn't deny that statement. But she also knew it didn't negate her responsibility. After all, she was the one who left. Right after William's death, no less. "I am sorry," she confessed as she mindlessly stabbed at her omelette. "If I could do it again, I wouldn't have-"

"Max, what happened to Chloe is not your fault. You did the right thing. You moved forward with your life. I did, after William passed on. Chloe… Chloe chose to stay angry. She hit all the phases… expulsion, running away, drugs, bad boys, tattoos, piercings, blue hair. That girl was a rebel through and through." With that, Joyce's eyes started to fill with tears again. She dabbed at them with the bottom of her apron before looking back up. "So believe me when I tell you that there's nothing you could have done."

Joyce spoke with such a fierceness that Max was taken off-guard. Looking up, she found she couldn't look away from Joyce's driven gaze. She nodded slowly, absorbing everything, before taking another bite of her food. With that, Max felt a guilt lift from her chest. If anyone still living had the right to be angry with her, it was Joyce. And yet, here she was before her, with a mother's love and forgiveness.

 _Maybe it's not my fault._

Max felt her breathing become quick and shallow. With a smile, she searched for anything to change the topic. Then she said, "I won the _'_ _Everyday Heroes'_ contest at Blackwell today. I get to go to San Francisco this weekend to be wooed by other _artistes_."

"Well, congratulations then, Max. We always knew you were destined for great things," Joyce responded before someone called out for her. "Now, I'm going to check on my other customers. But when I get back, I want you to tell me about Seattle."

The following hours were disjointed but healing for Max. Joyce wanted to hear everything about her life from the moment she left, her adventures, her troubles, her acceptance into Blackwell. She seemed to delight in every small detail. And when she came back from her frequent goings, she would perfectly recite Max's last line in order to assist her in continuing whichever story. For Max's part, she felt as though she and Joyce had never been separated. The only evidence that it wasn't so was the space across from her, empty where Chloe should have been. Chloe, who should have ragged on her about school, reamed her for leaving, and respected her for her passion.

Close to seven o'clock, Max felt her phone buzz. She reached down and checked it to see a message from Mark. Heart leaping, she opened it.

 _Where are you?_

It was a strange statement, and Max checked to ensure that her previous message had been sent. It had.

 _I'm at the Two Whales Diner._

"Now, that's quite an expression. You haven't mentioned to me any boyfriend yet, Max Caulfield," Joyce scorned jestingly. She smiled knowingly, one eyebrow quirked up.

Max flushed and hid her phone. "He's not my boyfriend..." Her phone buzzed again, and she checked it.

 _I'll be there in ten._

When Joyce raised her other eyebrow in expectation, Max added, "... yet."

"Ah, I see," Joyce murmured, her curiosity clearly diminishing. "Well, don't wait too long for him to come around. Some men don't have the nerve if they aren't given an open invitation from a woman. And if he doesn't realize how special and worthy you are, you are best moving on without him. The world's a large place, Max."

"I know, Joyce," she murmured before tucking her phone away. "Thank you so much for the dinner. I enjoyed it so much."

"Of course, Max. Now, before you go, I have something for you," she said before heading back behind the counter. She brought out an old, yellow shoe box, labelled PICTURE BOX on the front. Setting it down on the counter, she said, "I found this when we were… cleaning out Chloe's old room. I believe she would want you to have it."

"Thank you so much, Joyce," Max whispered, taking the box and holding it gingerly. "I will cherish it."

Joyce nodded sadly before stepping back. "Now, you don't forget to keep in touch now. I want to hear from you at least once a week whilst you're in Arcadia Bay. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Joyce," Max said before rising to her feet. She held the box under her arm and gave Joyce a hug.

Joyce gave her a strong bear hug in reply before releasing her. With that, Max stepped out the front door. She was surprised to find Mark standing there, speaking to the homeless woman Max had seen before. Trotting down the stairs, Max approached them only for Mark to take a step backwards. He smiled at Max, but it seemed almost strained.

"It was a pleasure," he managed to say before stepping away. He motioned Max to follow him as he headed back towards the parking lot.

Max glanced back at the homeless woman. "What were you talking about?" she asked curiously.

"She thought she knew me from somewhere. I had to explain that she probably just saw me in the Beacon. I think she saw my picture there and mistook me for someone else," he explained before opening the passenger's side door. Sliding in, Max buckled as he closed the door and walked around to his side. He got in himself and produced a gift from the backseat. "I wanted to say it instead of texting you. But congratulations on your first competition win."

"What's this?" Max asked, carefully setting the picture box between her feet to accept it.

Mark chuckled, "Something terribly cliche, I assure you."

Laughing nervously, Max opened up the wrapping paper to find a digital Hasselblad camera. "Medium format" the box said, amongst other things. She looked at the picture to find it was a perfect copy of Mark's camera. It was one of the most expensive cameras on the market, but it was renowned as well. Max still had the proof of that hanging on her wall, in the form of the picture she had taken of Arcadia Bay that night. Shocked, Max looked up at him before beaming.

"This is… Oh, my God… I..." She didn't think, pulling him into a kiss.

Mark laughed against her lips, kissing her back just as passionately. "I was hoping you would like it. And I know just the spot to give it a test run."

Without warning, he tore onto the road. Max was startled as he gunned down the main street of Arcadia Bay, blasting through a yellow light in the process. Yelping, Max grabbed a hold of the "oh, shit!" handle above her head. Her feet firmly held the shoe box in place, ensuring it wouldn't move. "Mark!" she cried out.

"Don't fret. Everything's under control," Mark stated.

Max hung desperately onto her gift as Mark took the first turn. He was jetting up one of the hillsides that surrounded Arcadia Bay. "Whoa! Curve!" she shouted as they banked hard. She thought she felt the back of the car skid for a second, but Mark kept a firm hand. Heart pounding, she let out an excited laugh as he took the next bank at neck breaking speeds. Then, just as suddenly as they had started, they came to a painful halt. Max's seatbelt snapped her back into her seat, and she sat there, gasping.

"Awake now?" Mark jested, looking over at her.

Max stared back. "I was awake before!"

Laughing, Mark turned off the car and hopped out. Max followed suit, following him through the dark path that led them back to their cliff. She recognized the overlook immediately. With a smile, she sat back down in the same spot that she had before. Mark sat down next to her, his legs dangling over the ledge as they had last time.

"I can't come here anymore without thinking about you," Mark confessed as Max opened up her camera box.

This surprised Max. It struck her as strange that he should think about her, although the times that he had crossed her mind were more often than not. "Do you?"

"Do I?" Mark echoed.

"Think about me?"

Mark stared at her a moment, searching her eyes for something. "Max, I think about you every day."

Flattered, Max blinked a few times. She pulled out her camera and began to remove the wrapping that was meant to protect the screen and buttons.

When she didn't reply, Mark pressed, "Does that surprise you?"

"Somewhat," she confessed as she turned the camera on. It had half a charge, and the battery flashed once to bring her attention to it.

"Max, look at me," Mark called out, touching her chin with two fingers. Max reluctantly turned her head to look at him. His eyes were shining brightly, his frames appearing glass-less. "I have thought about you every day since the day we met. When you took the most intuitive, remarkable photo of me that I have ever seen. You've never escaped my attention. Even when we weren't talking, I would find myself thinking about you. Wondering what you were doing. If you were framing the world in your vision again with that small camera you had come to love. I wanted to hide my affections from you. But then you began to pull away, and I realized that I could not bear that."

Max pulled away from his touch, finding it almost too overwhelming. Her heart was sent into a flurry of beats, and she found herself unable to control it. "I never imagined-"

"Nor should you have," Mark cut in. "I'm your teacher. And you have such a good heart, Max. I doubt you could think me capable of any wrongdoing."

"No. To me, you're a hero," Max confessed.

"I hope you come to know me better over the years, Max. I hope you come to accept me for everything I am. For I am flawed. I am jealous. Possessive. I'm prone to dark mood swings when I cannot get my shot right. But I have never wanted someone as much as I want you," Mark murmured.

Honestly, Max was a bit in awe. She had a difficult time seeing Mark as flawed, although she supposed it must be true. Every human being was flawed. However, she couldn't help but think that his weren't the fatal sort that would drive her away. After all, wasn't a certain amount of jealousy and possessiveness flattering after a point? But he truly did care about her. Of that, Max had no doubts whatsoever.

"Now, let me show you how to set up and use this camera," Mark murmured, sliding in closer. Clearly, the silence had marked the end of the conversation.

Max beamed and picked it back up from her lap. As Mark's large hands enveloped her own. She looked up at him, and she truly saw her future. Not just the immediate one, going to San Francisco with him, but the distant one as well. She could see him at her first showing. She could see him supporting her through her college years, helping her hone her craft. She could see him even in a church, waiting for her to come down the aisle. And she could see herself supporting him, even as he aged.

"I… I love you, Mark," she breathed out. The words spilled from her lips, unbidden. Embarrassed, she stared down at her camera again, hoping that perhaps he hadn't heard her.

However, he had. "I love you, too, Max," he said. And with that, he finally drew her into a kiss.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it. This story was written with the intention of both readings (Jefferson as good or Jefferson as still evil) to be possible. Elements for both readings (dual meanings, short stories, subtle expressions) have been sprinkled throughout the story. So, in the end, it's up to you, Dear Reader, to decide how you want this story to end.


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